


Sh-Shopping Spree

by TheLastLynx



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Lingerie, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn With Plot, Public Sex, Sex Education, Sex Magic, Sex Shop, Sex Toys, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-05-16 11:31:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14810553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLastLynx/pseuds/TheLastLynx
Summary: Draco loses a bet and has to visit a muggle sex shop. There he encounters a certain brunette witch, shopping for supplies. The episode makes a deep impacts on him and results in several strange, and very sexy dreams. Lemons. PWP.***** Nominated for Favourite Fluff in the Beyond the Book Fanfiction Nook Summer Awards 2018 *****





	1. The Pearls

**Author's Note:**

> In honour of Draco's birthday I am taking the plunge, and post my first Dramione fic. Let me know what you liked about it (if you liked anything at all); I'd love to continue this dirty little fic if you don't think it's utterly horrible.  
> All the beta love goes to MotherofBulls who encouraged me to make a mini-fic out of the mess that initially was meant to be a one-shot PWP.
> 
>  
> 
> **Author's Note 5 March 2019: Since I'm pretty unhappy with this piece, the first chapters are currently undergoing a major re-write. I do apologise to anyone who is following this work and who has been hoping for an update. It's under works, I promise, but this is (in part) the reason for why it's been taking me so long. Thank you for sticking with me anyway :) Cheers, Lynx**

 

 

 

 

“Well, that’s a load of rubbish!”

“It’s true! I bloody swear!”

A scoff.

“Right.”

“Why, I’ve seen it with my own eyes!”

“Never in a million years, Blaise. Never!”

Draco and his dapper former housemate were lounging quite comfortably in the maroon coloured Chesterfields in the cigar room of Malfoy Manor. For the last two and a half hours they had indulged in their weekly “shop talk”, which meant that they had been “tasting” the most recently auctioned bottle of 75 year old Ogden’s finest vintage.

All in all, it was a pretty standard Wednesday evening, really.

Blaise thumped his empty crystal tumbler onto the black Marcel Breuer coffee table, and eyed his blonde mate slyly.

“Look, Malfoy, if you don’t _believe_ me, how about we make a little wager out of it?”

Draco rolled his eyes.

“Zabini, I’ve known Nott my whole life; Parkinson, too, as a matter of fact. Hell, I’ve even dated the bint for the better part of fourth and fifth year. Don’t you remember how Nott used to go on and on how he _hated_ that Pansy was always around? How we never could have a night just amongst us gents anymore? How Pansy nagged and nagged that Theo was such a scrawny little fucker, and that he wouldn’t have any friends at all weren’t it for you and I?”

Blaise _Accio’d_ the crystal decanter with the sumptuous amber liquid. Holding the vitreous vessel against the warm glow of the hearth to contemplate its diminishing contents, he smirked at his best friend.

“Well, for one, people change.” He gave Draco a meaningful look. “And our dear Hogwarts days have been over for more than seven years now. Secondly, it wouldn’t be the _most_ surprising story of all times, would it now? The whole “from enemies to lovers” routine seems to be such a classic, wouldn’t you agree, Malfoy?” Blaise poured himself a new glass of whiskey, and sniggered devilishly.

Draco uncrossed and re–crossed his legs, and his ever–immaculately straight posture became noticeably more rigid. “Why, Zabini, I’m glad to see that even you haven’t been able to avoid the great British classics.” He drawled coldly, “And thanks for only serving yourself, you rude wanker.”

“Great British classic, indeed!” Blaise exclaimed, ignoring the rebuke. “I dare say it’s a Hogwarts classic! _‘The course of true love never did run smooth’_ , and all that. So, if Parkinson and Nott can happen, I’d try my luck as a divinist, and foretell–” He closed his eyes, and, bringing both his hands up to his forehead in mock imitation of Sybil Trelawny, continued in a dark, sing–songy voice, ”the next happy couple will be Malfoy and Granger!”

Draco snorted derisively.

He met Theo practically every other day for luncheon at the Manor, and he _very clearly_ remembered several instances where Theo had loudly and insistently berated the witch.

_“Ugh. Don’t get me started on Pansy and her screeching banshee voice,” Theo exclaimed aggressively stabbing his rare tenderloin steak, blood squirting from the sides– “By Merlin, Draco, why on earth you went to the Yule Ball with that hideous pug face is really beyond me. You were not that desperate, were you? She always pouts her lips,” Theo made a squishy face, “as if she’s out to snog the first poor bloke that won’t object.” He licked the rest of his chocolate soufflé from his spoon.“Why did Narcissa invite her again? Gosh. Can’t we just have a gathering to ourselves just once? Just look at that at that obnoxious witch,” Theo glanced at Pansy in a little black dress who was standing next to the fireplace chatting with Narcissa. “Makes me want to heave. Always stalking about in those ridiculous storky legs of hers… it’s just ridiculous!” He greedily gulped down the rest of his digestif in visible agony._

Although Draco had come to value Pansy as a loyal friend, he genuinely had some sympathy for Theo. After all, he was no stranger to that kind of aggravating irritation, particularly where a certain insufferable, swotty Gryffindor was concerned.

Blaise really must have suffered a delusion hex, or one too many hits with a Bludger to his head. Maybe they all should tone done the competitiveness of their monthly Quidditch match.

" _But love is blind, and lovers cannot see_ ," Blaise supplied airily, snapping Draco out of his thoughts.

Then again, maybe not.

“Lovely,” he drawled, rolling his eyes. “Gimme that.” He snatched the decanter, and emptied the pitiful rest into his own tumbler. “That’s one thing that I know for certain is never going to happen. I _do_ have standards after all; unlike you, I dare say. Which bint is it this week? Or still hung up on that ginger blood–traitor spawn, are you?”

Blaise swirled the whiskey in his glass.

“Mmmhh… lovely Ginevra, you mean? Ahh, you know she snatched herself the raven–haired Saviour himself. I positively _pale_ in comparison.” He sighed theatrically. “But come now, Draco. _Blood–traitor_ ? Are you bloody serious, man? Who _actually_ still cares for that shite? You can’t honestly tell me you still do. Aren’t you supposed to be the smart one around here?”

Again, Blaise gave his friend a conniving smirk, while the blond pretended to be thoroughly enthralled by the taste of his drink as not to show the grimaces that always threatened to perturb his usually perfectly impassive exterior.

“You’re impossible, Blaise. I do wonder how you still manage to find witches you haven’t bedded yet. Seeing as the ones you _did_ have you’ve obviously all _irritated_ to death.”

“Ah, do I smell envy? You only say so because you’re too stuck up to know what to do with a witch, even if one lay ready and starkers in your bed every day of the week. No wonder you only have a go at it once a year; that probably exhausts your repertoire as it is. I bet you could learn a thing or two, _especially_ from my,” Blaise made a meaningful pause. “ _Irritating_ self.”

The blond man huffed indignantly in reply and started to retort, even though there was far too much truth to the comment for his liking (it _had_ been rather long since he had harboured any interest in a witch, and his last tumble in the sheets was almost too long ago to even speak of). But the darker wizard cut him off, waving his hand through the air as if thoroughly bored.

“Anyway,” he drawled. “Back to the matter at hand. Still don’t believe me and my faultless insight into magical society and witches in particular: that our dearest friends Pansy and Theodore are shacking up?”

“Never.”

“Fantastic. So, let’s talk wager. If I’m right–“

Draco snorted derisively. This conversation was getting more ridiculous by the minute, and he was good and ready to throw his obnoxious drinking companion out of the manor.

“Unless you want to admit right this second that I am, in fact, right?” Blaise smirked at his friend.

“You’re so full of it, Blaise.” Draco took another swig. “But there you go; if you desperately want to lose a wager, I certainly won’t be the one to stop you.” _Maybe there was a possibility of revenge to be had. That annoying little fucker needed to be shown some manners._

“Brilliant! So, if I’m right, what should I have you do? Oh, the options, oh, the options…” Blaise mused and observed his pale friend.

Draco on the other hand eyed his companion with calculating interest. After a few moments his stormy grey eyes betrayed a devilish glint. The wager _was_ ridiculous; but Blaise had been such a pain in the arse this evening, he was quite happy to take him down a peg.

“Well, Blaise, since you’re so confident of your appeal to the ladies, and since you’re so wholeheartedly dedicated to blood equality, why don’t you seek out the Weasel ginger beauty and ask her out on a date, Potty or no Potty. And while we’re at it, why don’t you do it after one of her Quidditch matches. It’d be _such_ a shame, if there wasn’t anyone to witness your unmistakable prowess with the ladies, wouldn’t you agree. After all,” Malfoy flashed him a sarcastic smirk, “we _all could learn a thing or two_.”

His dark friend grinned. “Feeling a bit devious, are we, Malfoy? Well, well, well. Since you’re apparently so _inspired_ by our ladies talk, I guess I can think of something to compare. Let’s see… “ Once again, Blaise reached for the whiskey carafe, and tried – unsuccessfully this time – to replenish his drink. Disappointed, he put the stopper back onto the empty decanter. That’s when inspiration hit him. _He will give the devil his due_ , Blaise thought deviously.

“Oh, Draco, darling, you are going to _loooove_ this.”

 

* * *

 

 

Seething, Draco made his way to the Leaky Cauldron. Of all the rotten luck. He was still incredulous. Stunned. Dumbstruck even.

How was this _possible_?

Were they _blind_?

Was _he_ blind?

His thoughts wandered to the meeting with Theo and Pansy for the umpteenth time.

Theo had clearly been nervous but obviously besotted with the dark haired witch. Pansy was uncharacteristically giggling into her goblet, all the while blushing furiously. An annoyingly smug, yet unperturbed Blaise conversed with the couple; he didn’t even bat an eye at their constant touches and caresses which made it quite obvious how very _intimate_ they were with each other.

It’d been a bloody mess.

With a curt nod he acknowledged the proprietor Tom (who sported a rather puzzled expression at the sight of the Malfoy scion in muggle attire), and in long strides crossed the pub that already exhibited its characteristic assortment of strange customers; either still sipping on their morning cuppas ahead of a day of shopping in Diagon Alley, or already nursing their drinks at eleven in the morning. Under a couple more bewildered glances, the blonde wizard stepped through the door, and onto the busy streets of Muggle London. It was a uncharacteristically sunny day, but he still kept his black umbrella close; one never knew. Turning towards Charing Cross station, Draco was immediately swallowed by an onslaught of non–magical passers. For the probably thousandth time today, he cursed Blaise under his breath for making him do this the Muggle way.

 _Fucking Zabini_.

While he was waiting for the Northern Line to arrive, Draco thought of Theo and Pansy again.

_How did this happen?_

Through all the years, how could he not have noticed that Theo and Pansy had – _apparently_ – carried a flame for one another? Well, that is what Blaise said, at least. He could almost still hear Theo complaining about what a bitch Pansy was; his ears had practically never stopped ringing from Pansy screeching her indignation about how irritating she found Theo’s snark. Merlin, that bloke was practically a cousin to him, a brother even. How could they have talked for hours and hours, yet when they’d discuss women Theo fancied Parkinson had never come up? Not once!

_Was he just shite at being a mate? What a bloody depressing thought._

The train arrived, and Draco hurried to find a seat from where he could best observe the stations. Although this was far from his first time in Muggle London, he wasn’t intent on spending any extra hours riding back and forth just because he’d missed his stop.

More or less comfortably seated, Draco silently went over all the conversations he’d had with Theo in the past. He had to note that while Pansy was never discussed as a love interest, she’d been fairly ubiquitous in their discussions – even though it had been mostly Theo complaining about her.

_Was he in love with her then already?_

_No._

_Or was he?_

Surely, he’d just been annoyed. After all, Draco knew perfectly well that when an annoying female irritated one to death, one _had_ to get if off one’s chest to achieve _some_ peace of mind.

It was just the same with him and Granger. And he was _certainly not_ in love with that bint.

_Ugh._

Therefore, Draco concluded, Theo had to have fallen in love with Pansy some other time.

 _Flawless logic_ , he thought smugly to himself.

Although his reasoning did little to lesson his irritation that he nevertheless had lost the wager. And he was still none the wiser when the bloody hell _love_ had happened.

He should probably ask them next time, instead of sulking into his goblet for half an hour, and then fleeing the scene because he couldn’t stand any more of Zabini’s gloating.

 _Fucking Zabini_.

After roughly half an hour, the bustling masses of weekend shoppers swooped Draco out of Old Street station and onto the vibrating streets of Hackney. Clutching his wand buried deep in the pocket of his trench coat, he took a moment to orient himself, and then made his way down the busy main street. As soon as he reached the slightly less hectic area of brownstone houses and cobblestone streets of Shoreditch, he felt for the tiny piece of parchment that held the address of the establishment he was seeking.

Two quick glances assured him he was, in fact, right.

Once again muttering a curse against his devious Slytherin friend, the blonde wizard went into the alley, eyeing his surroundings in search for his destination.

As soon as he passed several curtained shop windows, he immediately knew he had found what he was looking for. Taking in the façade of the tall brownstone with its elegant white casement windows on the ground floor, he noticed a purple banner timidly jerking in the soft breeze. Its white pattern which ominously contoured a graceful female body almost seemed to be lolling seductively.

 _Final destination_ , Draco thought sarcastically. And, _Fucking Zabini_ , he added darkly.

Even though he tried very hard to convince himself to be first and foremost mad at his friend for making him do muggle things, none of his vicious thoughts could quite shut down the nervous fluttering in his stomach that was much rather concerned with the _What_ he was about to do, instead of the _How_.

If he _could_ have, we would’ve turned on his heel, and went straight back down the streets he had just come from.

Alas, he couldn’t.

Probably for the first time in his life, Draco cursed the powers of magic. And his stupid arrogance, too. He never should’ve agreed to that bloody wager in the first place.

And why did they have to bind the wager to an Unbreakable Vow? Completely unnecessary bloody nonsense.

Although, if he was being perfectly honest– not that he was, but let’s just assume, for argument’s sake– he too, would have insisted on securing the bet with the Unbreakable Vow. He just had been so sure of the outcome. And giving Zabini the possibility of an Out positively defeated his intent of humiliating the arrogant fucker.

 _Well, that went well, now, did it. Bloody insipid fool, you are_ , he scolded himself.

So, there was no turning back. In trepidation, he turned round the corner in search for the entrance.

Two letters and an exclamation point announced the object of his trepidation in paradoxical innocence:

**_Sh!_ **

_Sh–shite_ , Draco thought sarcastically.

Once again he nervously glanced up and down the alleyway to make sure there was absolutely no one he recognised. Or rather, _he_ wasn’t recognised by anyone.

_It’s just a little harmless shopping, anyway._

Draco pushed his wand deep into his pocket, squared his shoulders, schooled his features into his signature detached expression of airy coolness, and entered the building, just when the distant ringing of a church bell heralded that it was noon.

 

* * *

 

The dainty tinkling of a shop bell announced his presence to the bright and lofty interior. Whatever Draco had expected, _this_ was certainly not it.

The ground floor room was positively glowing in the immaculate whiteness of its walls; the soft brown of the wooden floors and shelves gave an air of hominess, and an elegant seating group of baroque–styled armchairs grouped around a modern coffee table welcomed him into the establishment. It almost calmed his now wildly fluttering nerves – almost. Weren’t it for the goods on display.

Draco swallowed.

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed several books exhibited on his left: _Smart Girl’s Guide to Porn, Ultimate Guide to Orgasm for Women, Best Bondage Erotica, She Comes First, Clitology_ …

_Sweet Morgana._

But his wandering eyes were caught by shelves upon shelves of the exhibited naughtiness. Next to different sized bottles of lubricant, he noticed vibrators in various extravagant colours and forms, exhibited on the walls as if they were design objects.

_Oh Circe._

At the far end of the room his attention was finally caught by a curvy table displaying several toys for… _oh Merlin_ … viewing..?

He felt the heat rise in his cheeks.

“Hullo!”

A friendly, raspy voice with a slight Cockney accent snapped Draco out of his descent into panic, and reminded him of the task at hand.

“Welcome to Sh! Nice day, isn’t it?” The woman flashed Draco a warm, dimpled smile. “Fancy a drink?”

“Err…. a... errr… drink?” Draco stuttered.

“Coffee? Tea? Some bubbly? Whatever you like, darling.“

The shop assistant was a curvy woman, probably in her late twenties, or early thirties. Draco noticed several intricate, geometrically shaped tattoos on her olive skin peeking out of the edges of her flowy hot pink dress with dainty floral patterns. Her straight black hair was pulled into a messy bun onto her head, but her left temple was almost shaved bald. The fierceness of her appearance contrasted sharply with her girly attire and welcoming attitude. Strangely, Draco felt significantly more at ease because of it. The air of normalcy she exuded almost made him forget his embarrassment.

“Errr.. thank you. I’ll...err... take the alcohol.”

The woman sniggered quietly to herself, and disappeared to fetch his drink. He had barely enough time to gather his scattered wits and think of how to broach the subject at hand, when she promptly reappeared at his side, a long stemmed glass and some sparkling pink liquid in hand.

 _Merlin! Did she just_ Apparate _?_

“There you go, darling. You’ve never been here before, have you?” She inquired conversationally, and placed Draco’s umbrella in the umbrella stand at the entrance.

Tentatively sipping on his drink, the blond shook his head no, and almost spluttered the contents over his pale blue ribbed twill shirt.

_Why the bloody hell am I so flustered? Snap out of it, Malfoy!_

If the shop assistant noticed his embarrassment, she certainly did not show it.

“I’m Zara. So…”

She gave the tall and handsome customer a questioning look. With his bespoke wardrobe, and air of aristocratic nonchalance the young man appeared distinctly more refined than the usual customer. Even though many preferred to remain anonymous, she almost expected him to introduce himself. Manners and all. But Draco didn’t flinch under her inquisitive glance.

“... you must be the friend of Mr Zabini’s! He’s called ahead.”

Draco turned beet–red at that exclamation.

“Well, as he might have already told you, _Sh!_ usually only admits male customers when accompanied by a lady. You know, to build a safe environment for our shoppers.”

_How lovely. Now he had to put up with one of Zabini’s bints on top of everything._

“So, as your companion is already quite busy with her shopping, might I help you with anything in particular?” She continued impassively.

The wizard hesitated.

“Are you… looking for something for yourself? For a… girlfriend? A boyfriend..?” The woman probed gently.

Draco coughed into his glass.

“No! No, no, boyfriend!” He spluttered with probably too much vigour, as Zara raised a strong and shapely eyebrow ever so slightly. “Not that there's anything wrong with… er…. No… also, err… no girlfriend. No.”

_Merlin’s pants! He needed to get a grip on it._

“I’m… errr… I actually, sort of, erm…, you see…” Squinting his eyes in concentration, Draco desperately summoned all the courage he had to get on with the assigned task.

_Gosh. This was harder than speaking to fucking Voldemort._

“I sort of want to... err… try something new. So, I… err, wanted to maybe explore the potentials of… err…. Female pleasure..?” Mortified, he flushed.

Zara smiled at him sympathetically. Well, wasn’t he just adorable.

“You want to improve your orgasm–giving skills?”

“Yes!” Draco exclaimed with a heavy sigh of relief.

“That’s a fantastic idea! And you’ve certainly come to the right place for that!” Zara regarded him with appreciation. Maybe the bloke wasn’t quite too posh after all.

Actually, Blaise had tasked him to learn about the female orgasm, and buy at least two gadgets and one book to show for it.

 _“It’s all very educational, you know. And Morgana knows you could use some help on that front”, Blaise had drawled in his most patronising manner, swirling his tumbler. “Besides, one never knows what might_ come _of it,” he had added with a devilish grin._

Draco knew, of course, that his friend was simply out to embarrass him as much as possible. Why else would he have sent him to this particular Muggle shop at the other end of London on a Saturday at noon when most people were out doing their weekend shopping? He didn’t even want to think just how many witches and wizards had seen him blundering about Muggle London.

“So, we can either go about this theoretically or practically, or with a combination of both. Would you prefer to inform yourself about the female orgasm and the techniques to bring a woman to climax? We have several books on the topic. Or were you rather thinking of stocking up on toys and material to help with a more hands on approach.” Zara gave a throaty chuckle, obviously enjoying her own joke.

Draco relaxed slightly.

“Uhm... both... would be best, I suppose? I mean what use is all the theory if I can’t put it into action, right?”

“Absolutely right,” the young woman agreed.

Zara handed him a dainty lace and leather shopping basket, and led him to the far end of the room. After briefly explaining the history of the shop and how it originally had been dedicated to give women a safe and tasteful space to explore their sexuality, she went straight into it, and elaborated on the importance of lubrication. Apparently, even if aroused, women sometimes did not lubricate enough to enjoy penetration, or vice versa.

“The technical term for this is ‘arousal non–concordance’, and of course it’s not a gender specific occurence. But as a man, you’d probably know that. It’s rather fascinating, really, how out of sync our bodily responses can be with our feelings, or intellectual reasoning, wouldn’t you agree?”

 _Merlin._ Draco had not really expected to get educated today, especially not in a quite such a scientific manner.

 _This shop would be Granger’s dream_ , he thought sardonically. _Wet dream_. He sniggered devilishly.

Zara went on.

“And this doesn’t just apply to sexuality. I mean, probably everyone has this one kink, or harbours that secret attraction for someone. And even though we can’t stop thinking about them, we don’t dare act on our impulses, simply because we are somehow conditioned to perceive the act as wrong, be it for ethical, social, religious, or even political reasons.”

Draco felt very caught, and chased the bookish brunette out his thoughts.

Not that he still had any problems with blood prejudice. And yet...

To calm himself, he took a healthy swig of his rosé.

“Anway… what I meant to say is, communication is key during any kind of sexual activity. Consent is crucial.”

After a brief discussion about protection (unfortunately, Draco did not know what in Merlin’s pants ‘condoms’ were, but apparently it was sufficient to know that he used ‘other kinds’ of protection), the shop assistant handed him a rather large bottle of water–based lubricant, to make sure he didn’t run out quite too quickly.

He probably needed to ask Blaise if there was a spell for that sort of thing. _It’s not as if you’re expecting any female company in the near future_ , a vicious part of his brain supplied, and it sounded dangerously like his best friend. Draco scowled, and with another healthy gulp finished his drink. He deposited the empty glass on the coffee table. Before he’d even realised it, the raven–haired seller had already hurried out of the room, and returned with a second glass of wine, filled to the brim.

_Morgana, how does she move so fast?_

“Right,” she pushed the drink into his hand, contents swirling dangerously. He took a cautious sip to prevent the contents from spilling. “So, how do you feel about toys in the bedroom? Have you ever thought about that sort of thing?”

Zara led him over to the round table with the exhibited toys, and continued to elaborate on the merits of toys for couples, the different kinds of stimulation for women, and how vibrators, plugs, or dildos affected the female anatomy differently.

_Oh, Gods._

Draco had yet to overcome his mortification in the face of the naughty... topics. However, Zara was doing an excellent job at discussing everything in such a matter–of–fact manner that he was now adamant to get his Galleons worth out of the experience.

Also, the alcohol was definitely helping.

He took another nip.

Nonetheless, he was still a bit sore about how Blaise had made fun of his lack of luck with the ladies the other day. It wasn’t his bloody fault, after all, that being a former Death Eater wasn’t the greatest turn–on for witches. Therefore, if he soaked up all the knowledge, and worked on his seduction skills, Draco reasoned, now _that_ would certainly be a great way of establishing an improved rapport with the witches. And who knows, one day he might even be able to one–up his friend with his supposedly never ending stream of female conquests.

 _Joke’s on you, Blaise_ , Draco thought defiantly. _This is going to be so worth it!_

So when Zara launched into the merits of anal play, and how satisfying this could be not only for a woman, of course, proper preparation and lubrication provided, the blonde managed to contain his embarrassment, and it only showed in the slightly rosy tips of his pale ears.

Intrigued, he chose a rather stylish spindly metal toy that apparently was applicable for both male and female pleasure points, as well as a pair of smaller silicon butt plugs.

“Remember, preparation is key. Also, a lot of women say that they prefer anal penetration when they are really, really horny. So, if your woman has never had it up her arse you might want to try this after you’ve already given her several climaxes.”

Draco swallowed.

_Several climaxes?_

Unwittingly his mind conjured the vague image of a brunette witch writhing in pleasure beneath him, while he was feasting on her gushing lower lips, playing with her engorged…

“Speaking of which,” Zara interrupted his wandering thoughts before he could embarrass himself.

Draco flushed scarlet. Oh gods, he needed to get a grip! This was for educational purposes. _Concentrate, Malfoy! Stay focused!_ He gulped down some more of the rosy liquid.

“There is an art to giving and experiencing multiple orgasms. Most women think they can’t achieve them because the clitoral glans can get overstimulated rather quickly. However, it all depends on the techniques of arousal.”

_Overstimulation? What? He’d always assumed that touching the rosy button in her centre equaled pleasure for a witch._

Zara now launched into a whole discourse about the anatomy of the vulva and the clitoris; how the latter was far too often reduced to the clitoral glans; how the major part of the organ was in fact not visible; and how the whole organ changed when aroused. She made a point that direct stimulation to the glans could be too much – or even painful – for a lot of women, and therefore a partner should take could good care of the _whole_ vaginal area, seeing as the organ was far larger than generally believed. Finally, she elaborated on the types of orgasms a woman could achieve.

Draco suppressed the itching need to whip out quill and parchment to take notes.

 _Merlin, he was almost as bad as Granger. But it_ was _all so_ very _interesting._

 _What? Stop thinking of that swot!_ He immediately scolded himself. He definitely did not want to conditionalise himself to associate sex with Granger.

_Ugh._

Grabbing his glass, he took a healthy swig.

And another, for good measure.

To stay engaged, he asked the shop assistant for more details about the clitoral area, about the differences of clitoral and vaginal orgasm, and what she meant by G–Spot stimulation. Zara explained a great deal more about the Gräfenberg spot, and showed him the types of hand motions and body positions that were beneficial. Picking one of books from the shelves Draco had been looking at earlier, she fleshed out her points by showing him several graphs and illustrations.

The book wandered into the basket.

“You know, every now and then, we offer men–only classes on female pleasure. Unfortunately, tonight’s seminar is already fully booked, but if you wouldn’t mind leaving us your email we can notify you as soon as we’ve set a date for the next one.”

She now steered Draco towards a staircase that presumably led to another shop room in the basement. Not quite sure what an “email” was, he simply mumbled his appreciation and followed her.

The downstairs room was very similar to the one upstairs, although the items appeared to be distinctly more kinky. His gaze fell onto black feathers and masks, and then onto a vitrine that exhibited nipple clamps, different kinds of intimate jewellery, collars, as well as a variety of floggers, ticklers, and whips.

While the upstairs had a more classy appeal, the downstairs definitely was all about the closeted desires.

 _Like lace and leather_ , Draco thought, tasting his drink.

His gaze wandered to the right. At the far side of the room several more immaculately white illuminated shelves displayed smaller, tinted bottles, different coloured floggers and paddles, masks and feathers, as well as copious amounts of boxes and toys.

A slim blonde women also holding a glass of rosé stood next to a basket filled to the brim with what looked like a sea of lace. A metallic twinkle gave away that there had to be some erotic jewellery, too.

“Hi Steph,” Zara greeted the woman, who acknowledged both of them with a friendly nod, and turned her attention back to the book in her hand.

Draco’s interest, however, was caught by the longer wall of room that almost drowned in the sensual black of lace and ruffles.

Lingerie.

Draco swallowed.

He made out several garter belts and matching knickers, negligees, corsets, and teddies, as well as a whole variety of thigh–high stockings.

Since his Hogwarts days, he had definitely come to value the appeal of thigh–high stockings. There was just something about an attire that would read prim and proper in one moment, but could easily transform into the naughtiest, most sensual piece of clothing. Immediately, Draco’s mind conjured the image of a young woman bent over a cauldron, long legs in stockings, a school uniform skirt riding up her shapely bum, and no knickers to keep his exploring hands away.

But it was another piece, that ultimately snatched his attention. As if in trance, Draco approached the wall, deposited his glass on a wooden table, and reached for the soft fabric of a sheer black dress.

Two broad strips of intricately patterned lace were draped over either side of the bust just so, that it would cover the breasts of its bearer. Criss–crossed satin strands adorned the deep, plunging neckline. A beaded detail swung dangerously to and fro, and he could easily imagine those black pearls adorning the valley between two luscious tits. The streams of lace flowed down the length of the dress to merge in a V–shape just where he imagined the crotch to be. Two satin strips on either side framed the lace and ended in suspenders, presumably to hold stockings.

Draco’s fingers wandered over the uneven but soft material. He could only imagine just how exquisitely it would frame the swelling and dipping of a female body.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Zara walked up to stand next to him, and pulled the garment from the rack to present it approvingly.

“Yeah. It’s exquisite,” Draco mumbled. He couldn’t quite make out why exactly he felt so affected. Maybe this dress was just one of the repressed erotic desires Zara had spoken of earlier.

“A masquerade dress. It actually comes with a matching thong, stockings, and,most importantly, a mask. It’s a hit with the ladies. And gents,” she added with a chuckle. “Oh yes, the art of seduction might just be the most important part of sex. After all, every orgasm starts in your head.”

A still stunned Draco was led to a shelving unit that divided the room. Picking up the tinted bottles, she launched into the merits of massage oil as means to both relax and stimulate a partner.

Draco took the last sip from his glass, and studied the flasks of differently scented oils, while Zara showed him varying kinds of feather ticklers that apparently were another fun way to exploit heightened sensuality.

Fascinated by the edible oil, Draco studied a bottle of the chocolate flavour variety. He secretly wondered if this, too, could be conjured. A magical equivalent, he was sure of it, could probably offer a whole buffet of carnal delights. Or better yet, maybe one could equip the oil with sensual properties. Wouldn’t it be fun to have the effect of both the feather tickler and the oil rolled into one? Draco definitely needed to look into magical erotic products.

He was so deep in thought about the possibilities of magical sensual pleasure that he barely noticed Zara disappearing to fetch him another refill.

Just when he decided to add some coloured peacock feathers and an array edible oil in various flavours to his shopping basket (for research purposes, of course, since he needed to get an impression what he was looking for when he attempted a magically improved version), there was a slight commotion on his left.

The blonde woman – _Steph was it?_ – had been quietly reading a massive book (Draco could now make out its titel _Breaking the Arrow. A Brief History of Forgotten Sexual Technique_ by Alistair Fowley), when a small door he had not noticed opened just a crack.

Steph looked up and deposited the book into the basket at her feet. A muffled female voice sounded from the other side of the door.

“Erm, Steph, would you mind taking a look at this?”

While Steph stepped over to the door leading, apparently, to a changing room, Draco glanced over to the almost bursting shopping basket. What had previously appeared to be a sea of lace, he now made out to be a variety of black knickers, and seamed stockings especially in satin and silk. Amongst several packets he was able to distinguish black open bottom knickers with a bow, as well as a see–through lace garter skirt. The metallic glint he had noted previously stemmed from a body–chain waist,  a few sets of sparkly nipple–jewellery, as well as a pearl thong.

Draco gulped heavily.

His slight embarrassment notwithstanding, he found he was rather intrigued. Clearly, the basket belonged to the person behind the changing room door, whereas the other woman - Steph - had to be another shop assistant. Glancing at the brimming basket, he wondered idly what the sort of modern woman might look like who'd shop in a shop like this. Curious, he craned his neck to inspect the contents more closely, particularly to see if there were any toys. Sadly, the ridiculously large tome about historical sex very effectively shielded the contents from his prying eyes.

But judging from all appearances, the basket belonged to a woman who was very sure of her sexuality. This he could definitely tell. Whoever she was going home to, was, without a doubt, a very lucky; she probably was someone Zabini would love to _entertain_.

“No, darling, I don’t think your too curvy at all; it positively caresses your body shape. You look bloody hot, and I think you should take it! I mean, I’d shag you right away.”

Steph chuckled.

The wizard blushed red.

_Oh dear Merlin, a lesbian. He knew that there had to be a catch to such a woman._

_Oh yeah. And she’s a Muggle, too_ , Draco scolded himself internally for letting his hormones run wild like that, and returned his attention to the edible oil.

The wizard had all but forgotten that Blaise, in fact, _had_ to know the mystery woman, as she had been the reason he had been allowed into the shop in the first place. Also, with her being Blaise’s acquaintance, she was not only _almost certainly_ a witch, but also very probably heterosexual (or bisexual at least).

Draco, however, was far too inebriated thanks to an inexhaustible supply of rosé, and far too preoccupied by the erotic environment to make any such astute observations.

After a short deliberation, he selected four bottles, sniggering at the ridiculous puns that made up their indications (Creamy Vanilla, Popping Cherry, Mellow Melons, Luscious Lychees). Although he was no particular fan of some of these flavours, he was quite curious to see what their tastes and properties were, and how they could possibly be improved.

How very Malfoy of him, going into a sex shop for supplies, returning with a business idea.

Walking around the room divider towards the far end of the room and the parked basket, he was intrigued by several more toys, apparently for anal play. They almost looked like small, neon coloured stoppers with remote controls. Draco picked up one of the boxes to inspect the instructions, when there was a commotion behind him: a door opened and closed, and a “Ah, thanks so much, Steph” alerted him that the other woman had, finally, vacated the changing room.

Turning to see who she was, Draco’s attention was immediately caught by the unbelievably erotic dress he had been gushing over earlier which now made its way out into the room. The young woman carrying the garment, and who – just seconds ago, apparently – had been wearing the incredibly sexy piece, now sported an understated yet contemporary look: a pearly white lace top peeped out of a black leather jacket, her shapely legs were draped into tight washed grey jeans over smart black lace shoes.

Under normal circumstances, Draco would’ve appraised her very attractive appearance; right this second, however, all he could manage was gaping. Caught in an emotional turmoil of embarrassment, shock, inebriation, and – _oh gods_ – arousal, he just stood there and gaped at the wild-haired brunette that calmly walked into the room. He felt slightly dizzy. Sodding Salazar, he really should have been more careful with the wine.

“Well, hello there Malfoy. I was starting to think you had chickened out,” she commented matter–of–factly, and placed the nefarious dress into her bursting shopping basket.

_Granger._

_Hermione sodding Granger._

_Hermione sodding Granger was the companion Zabini had procured for him._

_Hermione sodding Granger KNOWS about out the bet!_

_ZABINI, YOU FUCKING WANKER, I’M GOING TO BLOODY MURDER_ –

“Ah, I see you’re about to discover the pleasures of prostate stimulation.” The brunette witch eyed the butt plug in Draco’s hands approvingly, and glanced at the several other anal toys he’d already selected. “Good choice, I suppose; although I was rather under the impression that Blaise had tasked you with learning about _female_ pleasure.” She arched an eyebrow, and grinned playfully. “But I _do_ enjoy the ones you have there,” and she pointed at the neon green anal toy in his hands.

Draco felt his head spinning. “You do?” was all he managed to utter, and dropped the toys into his assortment of selected goods, when Zara returned with his once again brimming glass.

“There you go, darling. Ah, Mione, did you take the dress then? Really lovely, innit. Draco was quite taken with it as well.” She gave Hermione a meaningful look.

“Was he now?” The brunette picked up her basket, and gave the blond a mischievous smirk. “I never knew you swung that way, Malfoy.”

“Do not!” Draco exclaimed, finally finding his voice again. He really had a hard time coming to terms with the present situation. And it certainly did not help that images of the swot extraordinaire in the sexy dress and several other of the racy pieces seemed to materialise in his consciousness every so often. He really had indulged a bit too much.

“Relax, Malfoy, I’m just teasing. I for one think it’s brilliant you’re exploring female sexuality. Even if Blaise pushed you to do it.”

Before Draco even knew what to respond to that, Hermione bowed to inspect his basket with uninhibited curiosity. She picked out the book on Clitology. “Fantastic choice. It’s a great introduction to everything you need to know, and not just concerning the anatomy of the clitoris.” She nodded approvingly.

“Yes, Zara helped me with my… errr… shopping.”

“Oh, Zara, I adore her. She actually teaches some of the courses for men, did she tell you.”

Zara and Steph had suspiciously disappeared from the room as soon as the both of them had started talking. Hermione continued to look through his basket.

“Oh, she also gave you lube… there’s a spell for that, you know.” Rummaging through the contents she held up one of the bottles containing the edible oil. “Interesting, I’ve never actually tried these. Interesting choice. Now you might only need...” she put the item back into the basket, and added a black mask and feather tickler. “There you go. And if you want to fluster Blaise go show him these,” she chuckled. Draco just watched incredulously as Hermione walked over to the one of the racks, picked out a set of nipple clamps, and dropped them unceremoniously into the shopping basket. “There, all set. What do you say?” The brunette smiled proudly at the blond.

Draco was still flabbergasted. “Err, Granger, not to be rude, or anything, but what in Merlin’s name are you doing here?”

Hermione looked at him, thoroughly puzzled. “Why, I’m here as your female companion. And doing some shopping, obviously.”

“Don’t be daft, you know what I mean. What in Merlin’s name do you have to do with Blaise? Why did he send _you_ of all people!?”

“Well, as you very well know, we both work in the ministry, and we’ve worked together occasionally,” the witch retorted. “While we were cooperating on a case in Non-Magical Relations last autumn, I think, he happened to stumble over my copy of Clitology I’ve lent one of my colleagues. We ended up discussing sexual education, and sexuality in general, you know, like female empowerment, and reclaiming your sensuality and the like, and that’s how I came to show him this place. He’s been here a couple of times with me; he even visited one of the seminars, I think-”

“Zabini went to a course?” Draco blurted out. Now this was definitely an interesting turn of events. “Which one; the one where you learn about female pleasure??”

“You know, I never asked him,” the witch mumbled, and she made towards the staircase to hide her burning cheeks. She might have told Malfoy just slightly too much.

Draco picked up his goods, and followed her up the stairs to the cash register.

As alluring garment after alluring garment wandered into Hermione’s shopping bags, Draco couldn’t help but wonder how the bush-haired know-it-all teacher’s pet had grown into this curvy and appealing woman who was now so very sure of herself and her sexuality that she didn’t mind discussing orgasms, not even with him.

A set of handcuffs disappeared in the tote.

And apparently sure of her hidden desires as well. Draco immediately thought of what Zara had observed earlier: _Everyone has this one kink that we can’t stop thinking about._

Long after the purchases were made and paid for, and after they had said their goodbyes and thank yous, and after he and Granger had parted ways, amicably even, as Draco was still quite too overwhelmed by the whole situation to come up with his typical snarky retorts, he sat on the Muggle train, and his thoughts drifted to his Slytherin friend that had sent him on this very strange Saturday adventure. How very peculiar that Blaise had been at Sh!; several times even, if he was to believe the witch. And now that he came to think about it, Granger had never actually answered why exactly Blaise had picked her to accompany him. Did he, once again, miss what was going on in his friend’s life? Were Blaise and Granger, in fact, more than just colleagues? The thought unsettled him. And not because of Granger’s blood status, no he couldn’t care less about that. But he couldn’t shake the unmistakable feeling that, just like with Pansy and Theo, he was missing the obvious, and he didn’t like the feeling one bit.

One sobering train ride later, Draco slowly felt his wits returning, and he grew considerately more irritated at the whole situation. How dare Zabini use the bet to humiliate him in front of Granger! This was unacceptable. The whole thing was meant to be a private bet between friends, and Zabini had misused his trust. Stomping agitatedly towards the Leaky Cauldron through the masses of tourists and weekend shoppers, Draco worked himself into a rage. He resolved that we would confront Blaise about Granger at the next opportunity, and demand to know why the bloody hell the damned swot had to be involved in the whole sodding affair. He pointedly ignored the tiny voice in his head reminding him that the whole experience had been a rather pleasant one.

Draco furiously clutched his shopping bags, and marched towards the Apparition Point. With a spin and a _Plop_ he was gone, the cursive letters _Sh!_ only lingering for a moment in the air where the agitated blond had disappeared just an instant ago.

 

* * *

 

 

_The room around him was drenched into pitch–black darkness. But after a while, Draco’s eyes made out the characteristic gloominess of the Hogwarts dungeons; the air cloudy with the thickening steams of blubbering potions._

_Through the mysterious gleam and sparkle of the fires licking at the many cauldrons sat on top the tables, he recognised the blurry scenery as his Potions class._

_The desk at the very front of the room was empty. Apparently the teacher had left the class alone,but who it was (_ Was it Snape’s class? Slughorns? _), Draco could not tell. He looked around, and neither could he make out any of his classmates who were busily stirring their concoctions. His sight seemed to be heavily impaired by the dense vapours wafting to and fro over their bowed heads._

_Amongst the faceless mass of preoccupied students a silvery sparkle in the front row caught his attention. A witch was bent low over her table, either intently studying the contents of her cauldron, or carefully reading the instructions. Thoroughly absorbed by her task, she did not notice her skirt riding up her bum, exposing the soft flesh of her stockinged long legs and her taut posterior, and a tell–tale white twinkle between her shapely cheeks._

The pearl thong, _Draco realised with sudden, uncanny clarity. He did not stop to wonder how or why this thought had materialised._

_The discovery induced a familiar swelling in his trousers._

_Intrigued, he promptly left his table, and slowly approached the witch to closely inspect the delicate and oddly familiar piece of clothing._

_Standing immediately behind the busy witch, Draco now made out the softness of her flesh, her muscles stretching and shifting as she bent low over her table whilst stirring the potion, the fabulous string of pearls sliding between her globes back and forth with every one of her movements._

_His slacks were now becoming uncomfortably tight._

_To reach for something in front of her, the witch now bent impossibly lower over the table, and slightly opened her stance. Mystified, Draco could now discern the rosy lips of her swollen pussy, clinging to the shining, sticky beads of the naughty garment, positively drenched in her arousal._

_His cock jerked at the delicious sight._

_Agitated, Draco looked around. Nobody noticed him. Peculiarly, the faceless class was still wholly absorbed by their tasks._

_There was nothing to hold him back._

_In one swift movement, he crouched down beneath her, grabbed her upper thighs, and licked her outer labia, passionately, greedily, with the pressure of his flattened tongue. He soaked up the musk, metallic scent of her arousal, and inhaled deeply._

Yesss!

_To him she tasted like an exquisite red vintage, served with the most delicious French cheese and fig jam, sweet and tart and erotic._

_Instead of protesting his sudden and outrageous advances, the witch lustfully moaned in response. She even widened her stance to allow him better access._

_Draco tightened the grip on her legs, and playfully tugged at the chain. He drank in the sight of her glistening lower lips shifting and moving; the red and swollen flesh of her pearly nub glittering with arousal whilst stimulated with the pellet; the darker rim of arse gloriously adorned by the perverse piece of delicate jewellery._

_The Draco couldn’t withhold his desire for the witch, and lustfully latched his mouth onto her once again._

_His tongue explored her outer folds, softly at first, stroking along the length of her sex to her puckered hole, probing for what gave her pleasure, what had her moaning and sighing with delight. He then swept along her inner folds, continuously tasting and suckling, probing and testing at her heated entrance with the tip of his tongue._

_To the throaty sounds of her moans he applied ever more pressure to the spots that had her squirming in his hands. Continuously stroking and licking, he tensed the muscles of his tongue, poked and pushed her points of sweet pleasure, to her gasps of_ Oh yes!–Uuunnhhh!–Yes!–THERE! _, all the while sampling and slurping her cream, pressing and feeling the coarse softness of her intimacy, until she was moaning and writhing and jerking with uninhibited desire, and her juices trickled in heavy drops over the shining pearls, over his lips, down onto his chin._

 _Draco couldn’t stop. He was addicted to her taste. To her scent. To her moans. To the_ Please don’t stop! Oh yes! Please! Yes, don’t stop! _that had his painfully aroused prick struggling and jerking against the tight confinement of his trousers._

 _But he kept on sucking and licking, he slid his flattened tongue over her folds, continuously circling, poking and stroking her flesh, until her legs were quivering and shaking in the tight grip of his hands, her body heaving with the need to explode, while she was now desperately panting and gasping for_ More! Oh yes, please! Give me more! Please! I need MORE!

_The classroom and the bystanders were all but forgotten. In his lustful craze, all Draco could see was the wet and wanton witch leaning over the table, skirt bunched up, long legs in stockings spread wide, panting and moaning for him, beckoning him, the evidence of her arousal glistening on her thighs, and the delicate bead of pearls taunting him to sample the real treasures that lay hidden beneath._

_In one swift motion, Draco opened his robe, zipped his fly open, and pulled out his hard cock, tip already leaking with anticipation._

_Not even bothering to disrobe, he once again grabbed her thighs and, simply pulling the pearls aside, drove into her fleshy, pulsating heat._

Oh gods!

_Pleasure! Pure Pleasure!_

_It was a feeling like no other, being fully encompassed by the warm, velvety slickness of a wanting witch. He could almost feel her juices leaking around him––no––he could_ hear _her wetness as her pussy shifted and accommodated his swollen length._

_Slowly easing out of her depths, Draco pulled her firm cheeks apart, and watched mesmerised how her glossy nether lips clung to his shaft, how the pearls carelessly shoved aside shifted back into place, and adorned their joint sexes as if they were a gloriously perverse work of art._

_The witch moaned in delight, and widened her stance even more._

More, I want more _, she panted._ Give it to me. Fuck me hard!

_Draco didn’t need any further encouragement. Again, he drove into her weeping pussy. And again he slammed into her. Over and over and over again, he impaled her, he pounded into her, pushing her onto the table, all to the gratifyingly smacking sounds of their fucking._

Oh yes, witch! take me–take my cock! _, Draco panted, and viciously rammed his rod into her again and again and again, as she cheered him on to go_ Harder! Mhh, so good… yes… unnhhh… fuck me! Yes, fuck me harder–HARDER!

_He drove into her more roughly now, almost punishingly, snapping his hips against her buttocks, gyrating to reach that secret spot at the front of her walls. With every sudden, jerking movement he felt her quivering, panting, pushing to feel him even more deeply. With every snap of his hips he felt his end approaching._

_He reached around her front for her dripping lips, to feel, to tease the swollen flesh of her centre. Touching and rubbing her slippery folds to the sharp rhythm of the urgent strokes of his dick inside her, he felt her legs starting to quiver and stiffen._

_Pushing out her bottom to meet every jerk of his hips she drove him impossibly deeper, deeper and deeper still, into her molten core._

_Encompassed by the tightness of her red, wet heat Draco felt his own pressure building and building, cheered on by every one of her gasped_ Yes! More! Oh yes! Fuuck! MORE! _, and impossibly turned on by the slurping sounds of his rod driving into her depths._

_His bollocks tightened, and his movements became more desperate. His teasing right hand at her sticky pussy lips was trembling, rubbing harder at her engorgend and stiffened pearl, as his left clenched around her leg to hold onto the crazed pace of their coupling._

_The witch was panting hard now, she was shivering, and stiffening, and as he impossibly sped up the intensity of his fucking and his rubbing until he dragged her over the edge._

_With a_ Yes! Oh, yes! F–Fuck, Malfoy! YES! UNHH! YEE–EESSSSS! _her still fully clothed body shook and stiffened under him, as wave after wave of blissful release washed over her._

_Draco grabbed her arse with both hands harder, and urgently slammed his cock into her wetness, fucking her through her release, again and again and again, driving himself towards the abyss, as her channel pulsated and tightened and jerked around him, cheering him on to follow her over the precipice._

_With one hand he reached around to once again grab the string of pearls. The sight of his dick disappearing once, twice, thrice into her adorned and pulsating cunt pushed him over the edge, and an all–encompassing orgasm thundered through his stuttering and jerking body to the sounds of his delight_

_“OH YES! YEESSS!! O GODS, YES, GRANGER – YES! UNNHHH!!”_

 

* * *

 

Flailing and twitching, Draco awoke with a start, his heart thudding frantically and almost painfully inside his chest.

_Oh gods! Was he having a panic attack?_

No, the sticky ropes of wetness still jerking into his pearl white silk sheets betrayed the origins of his agitation.

But no sooner had his orgasmic high ebbed away when his postcoital bliss transmuted into a fiery heat – the fiery heat of shame, now spreading through his exhausted limbs.

_Fuck._

_Fuckfuckfuckityfuck._

_FUCK!_

Agitated, Draco sat up. He had, apparently, _embarrassingly_ , been dream–shagging Hermione bloody Granger in a pearl thong, in a _full_ potions classroom no less.

_Fucking wonderful._

Miserably, he eyed the treacherous mess in his bed that betrayed without a shadow of a doubt that the dream had been one of the most intense and erotic experiences of his life.

 _I am going to kill fucking Zabini_ , Draco thought moodily before he reached for his wand, and deliberated whether or not to obliviate himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I forgot to mention: Happy Birthday, Draco. Did you know that Pearls are your birthstones? Quite the present, eh? :D  
> Also, I probably should've pointed out that "Sh!" does actually exist as described, and they really are devoted to empowerng female sexuality. You can go check them out online (https://www.sh-womenstore.com/) or on googlemaps.  
> HOWEVER, I am NOT affiliated with the store in any way; in fact, I have yet to go there myself irl. All persons mentioned above are absolutely, 100% fictional, and are either property of our beloved JKR, or are figments of my very narrow imagination.


	2. The Understudy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... there I am again... I'm so very sorry to have kept you waiting! I really didn't mean to. But much like this fic in general, this chapter overwhelmed me, and I had some serious plot problems to figure out (especially since this was *supposed* to be a brief fling while I was supposed to be busy with a long-term relationship aka slow-burn fic which, therefore, has not surpassed the notes and ideas and sketches stage). I have procrastinated by writing two really silly One-Shot. Check them out if you like and tell me what you think!  
> In the meantime, you have blown me away with your response! Thank you to everyone who has given a Kudo or written a comment. Special thanks to the lovely girls in the Strictly Dramione facebook group, especially Mandi762 and LaBelladoneX, whose shoutouts (especially the feature in NameThatFic) really made me squeal! Thank you.  
> Finally, I'm eternally thankful to have the Great MotherofBulls as Patron Saint. Her beta powers are heavenly.

####  _Monday (today, Ministry of Magic, Department of Magical Creatures)_

Hermione sat back and let out a heavy sigh. With a _Swish_ and _Flick_ , she levitated the last folder she'd been working on to the top of the tall and dangerously wonky paper tower on her bursting filing cabinet. What was cryptically labelled as _Wizengamot Draft Bill 261 M.B_ . _05_ was the result of roughly one-and-a-half years of interdepartmental work and international research pertaining to the _Educational and Societal Advancement of Non-Magical Persons with Magical Heritage_ (or what the Daily Prophet quite incorrectly referred to as the _Squib Equality & Education Bill _ ). Just one more month until the legislation would be discussed and voted on by the Wizengamot. Just one more month until, hopefully, another step towards _true_ equality in magical Britain would be made.

She massaged her aching shoulders. It had been a pretty uneventful Monday morning so far. All the important meetings regarding the S.Ed.A.NM.P.M.H. were scheduled for later this week, her department had just had completed another policy in cooperation with the International Department of Intermagical Affairs, therefore her weekly department meeting had been even shorter than usual. Turning to make another cuppa, she checked her wristwatch. There was still time until her lunch date. With her favourite red and gold mug in hand, she sat back at her desk, and checked her office diary for the tenth time today. Right. No pressing deadlines, no hectic bustling, no last-minute preparations for legislation–she was facing a rather boring Monday morning, actually. So, there was no reason why she should be this anxious. Very much _unlike_ her weekend, she mused. Especially Saturday. Now _that_ had been quite something.

It’d all started Thursday the week before when she’d sat in the ministry cafeteria nibbling on her sandwich. She was pouring over a book on her latest fascination, Sex Magick, when a tall, handsome fellow interrupted her. Uninvited, of course.

####  **_Thursday, the week before (Ministry of Magic, cantine)_ **

“You’re never going to believe this, Granger!”

“What is it today, Blaise?” Hermione sighed, not even bothering to look up from her tattered and aged copy of _Princum-prancum Magicum_ by _Cecily Plumtricket_ from 1670 _._ "Oh wait, never mind, it's Tuesday… what is it Malfoy did this time, hm?”

“Oh Granger, you know me so well,” Blaise purred, and stole a tomato from her plate, playfully twirling it in his slender fingers before first sucking its juices out, and then swallowing the rest. “Are you quite sure, you don’t want to give _us_ a go?”

“You know, Blaise, there are only so many ways a witch can politely decline.” Hermione turned the page. “I might just run out one of these days.”

“Just one dinner, love. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

“I’m sure you will,” Hermione commented dryly, still not tearing her eyes from her perusal. “But let’s just save both of us the time: _us_ is something that’ll never work.”

“By Merlin, how could you possibly know that?” Blaise pretended to be hurt, arms crossed in front of his chest. “And can’t you tear yourself away from that sordid book for just one second? Always reading, reading, reading. My presence demands your attention, witch!”

Hermione finally put down the volume, and gave Blaise one of her very stern, very intimidating, very McGonagall-like stares.

“Well, for one, there you are. I couldn’t possibly be with someone who doesn’t share my _one true passion,_ reading-reading-reading. Two: you’re a prat. Three: you’re only being so difficult because annoying me is _your_ one true passion. So, you can either sit there and watch me read, if you must get on my nerves, or better yet, go harass someone else. I’m sure there’s a Miss Moneypenny somewhere who would be _delighted_ to have you _bother_ her. Unless, there actually _was_ a reason why you’re here stealing one of my few precious moments where I’m not annoyed by headless, incompetent, paper-pushing minions.”

“Ah, Granger, always eager to tell us just _how_ inadequate us mere mortals are. Funny, too, since it reminds me of a certain someone I came here to talk to you about." He smirked and gracefully dodged a paper napkin that came flown at him. “Don’t worry, Granger. You know how I like to tease you. Hermione snorted. If there was one thing that she really did not appreciate was Blaise’s insistence of her and Malfoy’s similarities. What utter bollocks. With a huff, she picked up _Princum-prancum Magicum_ once again and scanned the page to continue her perusal of the early modern Tantrum Magick.

“Speaking of which.” Blaise scooted closer and put his elbows on the table, hands folded, eying her conspiratorially. After a few cautious glances around the room he whispered triumphantly, “I got Draco to go to Sh!”

Incredulous, Hermione closed her book. “Beg your pardon, Zabini? I must have misheard”, she narrowed her eyes at her dark friend. “Because that sounded an awful lot like _Draco_ Malfoy _– Muggles–are–the–scum–of–the–earth_ , _my–pinky–is–more–precious–than–your–whole–existence_ Malfoy _–_ might be frequenting a Muggle feminist sex-shop.” Hermione couldn’t help but giggle like a schoolgirl. This was just too good a joke.

In feigned casual nonchalance, Blaise leaned back and folded his arms behind his head. "It would seem your listening skills are up to par, Granger," he deadpanned and watched her intently. “Although, I don’t appreciate you abusing my friend for his heritage, _or_ his teenage idiocy for that matter. Aren't you always adamant that no one can be faulted for their milieu or their social conditioning?"

His seriousness had Hermione sobered immediately.

“But _how_ … why? _Why_ would Malfoy go there?”

To be sure, she was very pleased indeed that Blaise had apparently contributed to her most recent, if slightly less _official_ , crusade to contribute to sexual awareness and education in Magical Society, _especially_ amongst the younger witches and wizards. She’d had her share of lovers who either did not know their way around their partner or were too timid or too stuck up to know, let alone verbalise what they wanted themselves. Surprisingly enough (or maybe not so surprising at all), both instances were a rather common occurrence with pureblooded partners, not that she was prone to discrimination, of course not. However, being the modern, practical woman that she was, Hermione just couldn’t let that stay the way it was. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder if this was another of these instances where magical society really was a bit behind.

And after yet another unsatisfying tumble in the sheets, Hermione came to the conclusion that ignorance was anything but bliss, _especially_ in the bedroom; so she initiated the underground campaign **_Awareness is Bliss_ ** _,_ which focused on owning and exploring one’s sexuality.

From early on, Blaise had been one of her confidants in this endeavour. Given his Casanova-esque lifestyle, he turned out to be a great advocate for re-connecting witches with their hidden desires. However, not for a second did Hermione believe that Draco Malfoy joining their ranks was due to a wish to be enlightened. Nor was he likely to have become an advocate for social change, whatever the cause. The more she thought about it, the whole story appeared to be fishy. More than fishy, actually. This smelled downright foul. And judging by the devilish smirk that crept onto Blaise’s handsome features, she _knew_ something very untoward indeed was going on.

“Oh, Morgana. What did you do? Did you blackmail him? Zabini, out with it!”

Barely able to contain his glee, the darker wizard recounted the previous evening at Malfoy Manor, and how he had provoked his friend into the wager.

“Well, that wasn’t fairly played!” Hermione scolded him, “weren’t you the one who threw Pansy and Theo together in the first place?”

Blaise huffed. “Nonsense. They’ve been in love with each other for years. They just were too daft to notice it. All I did was giving them a _slight_ nudge in the right direction. But, honestly, I barely had to do _anything_.” He chuckled at the memory.

“You invited them to dinner, and spiked their drinks with _Amortentia_ ! That’s a bit more than a _slight nudge,_ I’ll say!” Hermione exclaimed, scandalised. “I mean, there’s no way you could’ve possibly done anything _more_ unless you’d actually dressed up as Cupid, and pierced them with a sodding arrow!”

Blaise struggled not to show how pleased he was with himself in the face of her irritation. He pointedly glanced around the cafeteria, trying _– and failing –_ to hide his glee at his victorious stunt.

_That self-satisfied, smug, meddling bastard!_

“No need to be so stuck up about it, Granger. Some people are quite simply too daft for their own good. In fact, Parkinson and Nott should count themselves lucky to have a good friend such as me. ”

“What sort of _friend_ takes away a person’s free will? Certainly not the sort I fancy having, thank you very much,” she said with a scoff.

“Merlin, not this again. First of all, you know very well it wasn’t actually a love potion, but an _emotion enhancing_ potion. Second of all, I've told you a hundred times over that I'd _never_ do that to you–”

“Well, I certainly should hope so!”

“–even if it’d do and Malfoy you some good,” he muttered under his breath.

“BLAISE!”

“Besides,” he continued and pointedly ignored her glares, “if anyone was to complain it should be Parkinson and Nott. And they certainly are not. In fact, they more than appreciate what I did for them.”

Hermione huffed and redirected her attention to Cecily Plumtricket and 17th-century Sex Magick. She still thought it’d been a high-handed and frankly extreme approach to things. But then again, Blaise _was_ a Slytherin, and that was probably the only way a Slytherin knew how to solve anything. A Gryffindor would _never_ stoop to such low tactics; no. Honesty was always the best policy.   _Always_.

“So, what’s it then with Malfoy,” she asked, intent on changing the subject. “You pressed him into going to _Sh!_ You probably even did something stupid like an Unbreakable Vow to make him, didn’t you.” Blaise managed to look slightly guilty. “Of course, you did.”

Hermione glanced down at the opened pages of her tome: an etching of two pompously clad figures in a perfectly manicured baroque garden were slowly undressing each other, in the background a group of witches and wizards were dancing ecstatically; the subscription read ‘ _The Eve of Samhain Will Increase the Highth as well as the Enjoyement of the Magycal Experience’_.

She sighed. “Let me guess, then. You want me to go with him?”

Blaise blinked. “Have I ever told you that you’re an exceptionally brilliant and beautiful witch?”

“Shove the sweet-talking, Blaise. I’ll do it.”

“You will?” The dark wizard inquired cautiously. “And what do you want in return?”

“Believe it or not, nothing actually. Unlike some people, not everything I do has to serve an ulterior motive, you know.” And with that she stuffed her book into her bag, and walked back to her office, leaving a rather bewildered Blaise behind.

####  **_Saturday (the weekend before, Hermione’s flat)_ **

After the (rather puzzling) encounter at Sh!, the rest of Hermione’s day flew by in a haze. She was barely concentrating on her usual weekend routine. While she busied herself with the laundry, she noticed that she was a bit more occupied with her former classmate than absolutely necessary. It might have been the many glasses of rosé, it might have been the hot and heavy surroundings, but still now, long after they’d said their goodbyes, her mind had wandered to the handsome, tall blond more often than she’d care to admit.

It was just that the very different side Draco Malfoy had shown earlier – the easy-going, polite, and, yes, exceptionally fit Draco Malfoy who was not above learning about female pleasure – was something she couldn’t get out her head. It all puzzled her exceedingly.

Thoroughly distracted by her chores and her wandering thoughts, she didn’t notice the fireplace roaring to life. Only when the tall and elegantly clad figure of Blaise Zabini waltzed into her living room, several wine bottles in tow, Hermione realised just how distracted she had been all day.

It had become somewhat of a _jour fix_ , their Saturday evening chats. Usually Blaise would take her out to try one or another casual fine dining place. Sometimes, when he was feeling particularly wicked, she would take him to a Muggle gastropub where Blaise would whine about the horrid, flat, and utterly despicable Muggle beer, and she would tease him about him not being able to hold his alcohol. But it was their more casual Saturdays, spent at her flat in Shoreditch drinking copious amounts of wine from one of his many family owned vineyards, when they had _truly_ gotten to know each other.

It was on evenings like these that a drunken Blaise had confided in Hermione how deeply unhappy he was about not being able to stay with one person, and that he, amongst other things, blamed his pureblooded upbringing and his heritage (especially his mother and her black widow tendencies).

It was on evenings when they’d slid off the couch and sat giggling on the carpet clad floor that Hermione had confessed how much she hated being perceived as the do-gooder Golden Girl who was never supposed to make mistakes.

It was on Saturdays like these that both had discovered how, curiously, both their lives were similarly constricted by how society expected them to be. Wine induced confessions on Saturdays had transformed two very different people of the opposite sides of the social scale to dear friends.

But it wasn’t only the heavy things that they’d share with each other. More often than not they would exchange gossip, chat about work, or their friends. Yes, their friends had developed into a favourite topic of theirs. They would exchange stories, laugh about endearing mannerisms, compare astounding similarities. Hermione did not appreciate Blaise constantly comparing her to Draco (“See, see! You’re even glaring just like he does!”); Blaise, on the other hand, didn’t particularly enjoy that he was, according to Hermione, a cross between the Weaslette and Potter, of all people.

“You’re sassy and snappy like Ginny, but kind and supportive like Harry,” she would say, and Blaise would just huff and sip his wine.

In the end, both of them wondered just how extraordinary it really was that, despite the blatant similarities shared by their closest friends, their circles did not overlap.

Tonight’s meeting was dedicated to their friends. Or rather, one friend in particular, and probably Blaise’s favourite topic when talking to Hermione: Draco Malfoy.

“So, how did it go at Sh!” Blaise said. He barely took the time to kiss their hellos.

“Lovely. I got some wonderful new garments. And do you remember this masquerade dress I couldn’t stop thinking about? I finally bought it.”

“Oh, did you now?” He summoned two wine glasses, which he filled to the brim, and flopped onto the sofa.

“Hm.”

Blaise fuddled with the bottle of Italian white wine he had brought. From a Veneto, family-owned vineyard.

“So, how was it?”

“Honestly, I thought it didn’t fit me properly. But Steph convinced me to take it.”

Hermione knew exactly what Blaise was dying to hear. But seeing as she had spent the better part of the day rolling the few moments at the shop back and forth in her head, she now tried to not give in to the urge to talk about it. Also, she still was rather confused about what to make of it all. The two Dracos she knew did not fit; or rather: the Draco she had met just hours ago did in no way match the spoilt, vindictive boy she had known at school.

“Marvellous. Anything else happen?” He shot her a meaningful glance.

“Hm… They didn’t have any exciting new things. And I finally managed to get my hand on that antique book I talked to you about the other day – the one about forgotten sexual practices. You know, it’s fantastic! I especially wanted to show you this particular–”

“Oh, stuff it, Granger! You know full well that I want to know how it went with Malfoy!”

Hermione feigned innocence and picked up her glass. She swirled the wine around and took a careful sip.

Blaise stared her down.

“Alright, alright! Well…” She played with the glass, twirling it in her fingers.

“Just out with it! Did he, or didn’t he go?”

“Of course he did,” she snapped. “Or do you think he would get himself killed over a silly bet?”

“Well… he probably would’ve if he had known you’d be there waiting for him,” Blaise deadpanned. He laughed at Hermione’s stony expression.

“It was fine, actually, and he was rather pleasant,” she sniped, feeling a bit stung. “He got the things  you requested: a book and two toys.” She sipped the wine Blaise had supplied and stood up. "So, now that this is _finally_ over and done with, I really wanted to show you this one position–“

“Wait just a second! That’s it? That’s all you’re going to tell me?”

“There’s hardly anything to tell,” Hermione supplied noncommittally. “I shopped, he shopped, we talked, paid, and went on with our respective Saturdays. And now here we are."

“Oh, don’t be absurd, Granger. You know perfectly well that you can give me a more detailed account than that!”

“Well…” she said, unsure what to reply to that. She could hardly tell him that she was still confused by Draco’s pleasant demeanour; that seeing him in muggle surroundings made her see the actual person instead of their shared, toxic history; that – for the first time in probably ever – she had realised how very handsome he was.

“How did he seem to you? Was he embarrassed? Did he behave badly? Was he mean?”

“Did you _want_ him to be mean to me?”

“Yes. No! Not that he would, usually–I mean, _was he_??”

Hermione laughed. "No, he wasn't. He was nice. Actually, he was more than just nice, and quite uncharacteristically so. He even held the door open for me.” Hermione’s eye twitched at the memory. She could almost still taste the musky freshness of his scent, traces of bergamot, lavender, and cedar.

Blaise snorted. “What, _that_ already constitutes _nice_ for you? That’s just being a civilised human being, Granger. Merlin’s Beard! I sometimes wonder what these Gryffindor cavemen ever did to snatch up fit girls like yourself, or the Weaslette.”

“Well, it helps considerately if you don’t call them ‘blood-traitor,’ or ‘Mudblood,’” Hermione shot back. Blaise gave her a pained expression. His mumbled reply drowned in his wine glass.

“Anyway,” Hermione continued considerately more amicably, “he was perfectly nice and polite. The poor chap was probably mortified to run into me. At least he must have been, he even complimented me on the masquerade dress.”

“Fancy that!” Blaise sniggered. “I always told you he fancied you.”

“He probably just liked the dress.” Hermione replied self-deprecatingly, and Blaise nodded and laughed.

She didn’t want to admit it out loud, but she, too, had been under the impression that Malfoy _had_ found her attractive–at least judging from the rosy tips of his ears and his fidgety demeanour when they’d stood together in the basement of _Sh!_.

So, she did not appreciate Blaise wounding her pride like that by ridiculing the idea of a Malfoy in a sound mind paying her a compliment. Then again, Draco actually _had_ been slightly inebriated. And the symptoms could’ve just as well been caused by embarrassment and drunkenness.

Hermione then recounted, in greater detail than before, what Malfoy had actually chosen, and that she’d approved especially of the literature.

“He really seemed to be genuinely interested, you know,” she finished her report.

“In you?” Blaise smirked.

“Oh, stop it!” Hermione swatted his arm.

Blaise raised his eyebrows suggestively, and she blushed.

“No! In the workings of the female anatomy, of course,” she retorted. Her cheeks burned.

“Well, wasn’t that sort of the point?”

“Really?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know _exactly_ what I mean, Blaise Zabini. You never do anything _without_ an ulterior motive.”

“Come on, Granger, I told you. I wanted to embarrass the prat.”

“So you say. But there are so many other ways you could’ve done that.”

“Well, you know what they say, love. It’s all about the right audience. And you, Granger, were just the right audience for that sort of thing.” He hid his smirk behind his glass.

"I see," Hermione supplied dryly, and sipped at the crisp white wine, although she had the faint impression that she did not, in fact, see.

“Although I was hoping there would be just a little flirting,” Blaise added airily.

Hermione didn’t dare to look her friend in the eye.

“Well, sorry to disappoint but it was just civilised conversation.”

“About sex toys and orgasms?” he laughed.

“Yes,” she shot back, probably with more emphasis than strictly necessary. Oh dear, it was probably the wine taking its toll. She pointedly ignored the burning stares her friend shot her. “We conversed like two conversing adults. A perfectly normal conversation about adult things.”

She hastily drowned the rest of her drink and almost choked on it. Blaise stifled a laugh but thankfully didn’t return to the _very uninteresting_ matter of Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger having a _perfectly normal_ _conversation_ , as _adults_ , about _adult things_.

As they drifted back into their usual effortless discussions about politics and wine and literature and sex and friends, Hermione, already feeling a bit hazy, couldn't quite shake the feeling that her cunning friend had not only tricked Malfoy but also herself with the whole sordid affair at _Sh!_

####  **_Saturday night/Sunday morning (the weekend before, Hermione’s flat)_ **

After a quite inebriated Blaise Zabini had stumbled into the fireplace and Floo’ed home, an equally as tipsy Hermione plopped down onto her sofa.

Her thoughts were still revolving around their earlier conversation. It might have been her uninhibited, drunken brain, but her mind kept coming back to the mystery that was Draco Malfoy and their fateful encounter at _Sh!_.

She couldn’t quite say _when_ she had fallen asleep, but thoughts _him_ were clearly carrying into her subconscious. At first, she believed she was back in at _Sh!_ , talking to Malfoy in the downstairs room. She was showing him various toys and gadgets and how to use them on a woman, how to maximise pleasure, when suddenly they were back in Hogwarts, in the Potions classroom.

She was sitting in her usual chair at the very front, but instead of Ron who was usually occupying the chair next to her, Draco was in his place. But instead of the boy she used to know at school, he looked like the older version with whom she had just recently become reacquainted.

The change of scenery didn’t seem to faze either of them, and they continued their discussion of giving and receiving pleasure. They were probably the last to leave the lesson, because the room was completely empty.

Hermione realised now just _how_ close Draco was. She could smell his perfume, bergamot and lavender and cedar, and his breath ghosted over her whenever he contributed to their discussion of the female orgasm.

Just as she was feeling a tinge of regret that they were _just_ _talking_ about making women come he lowered his voice and said: “Do you mind showing me, Granger?”

She promptly stood up and set down on the edge of the desk, right in front of him. Slowly, she shoved up her skirt and spread her legs, wider and wider, until his ears and his cheeks were tinged in that familiar shade of pink.

“Oh, Granger… You’re not wearing any underwear,” he rasped, breath hitching in his throat, as she reached down with one hand and spread her pussy lips for him.

“Merlin, you’re dripping!”

He edged closer, posture rigid, to observe Hermione rhythmically teasing her sex with one hand, while the other gently touched her breasts through her school uniform shirt.

“You’re so sexy, Granger!” the blond mumbled, never taking his eyes off of her. She spelled the top buttons of her shirt open, exposing the dark lace bra framing her curves. Under his hungry and appreciative gaze, Hermione pushed out her tits and increased the pace of her fingers rubbing her sex. She spread her pussy lips and dragged the creamy juices all over her folds, gasping and delighting at the slippery feel of her arousal.

“Morgana, you’re turning me on so much, right now,” he choked, as she pinched her hardened nipples through the lace, and rubbed furiously at her folds, circling her engorged and pulsing clitoris, but avoiding the too sensitive clitoral gland. Faster and faster still Hermione teased herself; she felt her legs stiffen, and the blood rush in her ears, and with a low moan, she pulsed around her fingers, her heart thrumming loudly to the rhythm of her release.

Panting, she slumped back, leaning on her elbows, her legs dangling from the table, while she was trying to get her breathing under control.

“You look so delicious, witch,” her companion supplied, and he moved closer to inspect her sex that was covered with the silvery white sheen of arousal and release.

And then his mouth devoured her. Hermione lost all ability to speak or to think, she could only _feel, oh yes, feel,_ as his wicked tongue mimicked the movements of her hand.

“Oh please,” she moaned, as she drowned in a new wave of desire rushing through her exhausted limbs.

She watched fascinated as he held her legs, firmly gripping her things, and lapped at her sex, almost drinking her juices like a rare wine, eyes closed, his expression solemn with something akin to reverence.

Hermione revelled in the heady cocktail of feelings rushing through her body – post-orgasmic haze, arousal, being desired – it all just felt _so good_ . Just _good_.

When his tongue increased the speed and the pressure, and as her breathing grew more erratic, and the heat in her body rose, and she knew, _she knew_ , she would fall over the edge soon, oh _so soon_ , she gasped for him.

“I need you, Draco. I need to _feel_ you!”

With rushed, frantic movements that betrayed just _how much_ he wanted her, _needed_ her, the attractive blond pulled out his hardness, and swiftly pushed into her dripping core.

Hermione couldn’t remember ever feeling this sense of fullness, of completion, of desiring and being desired, as now that Malfoy stood in front of her, grabbing the tops of her thighs and driving into her slippery depths with uninhibited passion, moaning and gasping, whispering sweet nothings into her breasts, kissing and licking her nipples.

She urged him to go harder, deeper, faster still; opening her legs wider, grabbing his snapping hips and pushing him, shoving him into her dripping pussy.

Their shared “Yes”, and “more”, and “Please” cheered on their descent into ecstasy, as pure lust overtook their senses, urging them forward, forward, _forward_ , until they were sweating and panting in unison, moving and jerking in carnal synchronicity further, further, _further_ , towards the ultimate heights of pleasure.

To the sounds of their shared gasps, and moans, and _“yes, yes, oh Gods, YES!”_ they kept urging each other ever further – pushing, pushing, _pushing_ until they were both falling, shuddering, jerking into each other. Until the chaos of entangled limbs became one, limp, breathless body, drifting away, into the all-encompassing nothingness of post-orgasmic bliss…

Until Hermione opened her eyes.

_Lumos!_

Why was she lying alone in her soft, comfortable bed in her Shoreditch flat, instead of the dark and empty potions classroom in Hogwarts, together with one Draco Malfoy? She could still almost _feel_ his lips, his hands, his hair ghosting over her over-sensitised body.

_Oh._

_Nox._

Hermione sighed and pulled her blanket over her head. She tried to block out glimpses of the overwhelming sensations that had woken her up.

After a while she drifted back to sleep, calmed by the lingering traces of bergamot and lavender and cedar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But what's with Draco?? *evil laughter* I know, I know. But we had to know about Hermione, didn't we.  
> We'll find out if he obliviated himself soon. *sniggers* So don't forget about me. Show me some love in the meantime? Thanks for reading! <3


	3. Eros & Psyche

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I am again! Before we find out about what happened to Draco I have a few notes: First, please activate "show creator's style", so this chapter will be as fun as it should be. Secondly: I struggled with the title because I didn't want to evoke RZZMG's brilliant fic; however, the title makes so much sense, so I kept it. So please consider the origins/definitions of Eros & Psyche: 
> 
> "Eros (/ˈɪərɒs/ or /ˈɛrɒs/; Ancient Greek: ἔρως érōs "love" or "desire") is one of the four ancient Greco-Christian terms which can be rendered into English as "love". [...] Eros refers to "passionate love" or romantic love [...]. The term erotic is derived from eros. Eros has also been used in philosophy and psychology in a much wider sense, almost as an equivalent to 'life energy'."
> 
> "In psychology, the psyche /ˈsaɪki/ is the totality of the human mind, conscious and unconscious. [...] The word has a long history of use in psychology and philosophy, dating back to ancient times, and represents one of the fundamental concepts for understanding human nature from a scientific point of view. The English word soul is sometimes used synonymously, especially in older texts." 
> 
> And then, there is the myth of Eros & Psyche, of course...
> 
> Finally, I am indebted to the "Amazon goddess" MotherofBulls (thanks SaintDionsyus!) who keeps an ever-watchful eye over this mere mortal, as well as to Tenebris-Et-Lux who did a brit-pick swift like Hermes. Amicis gratia!

####  **_Sunday (the day before, Malfoy Manor)_ **

_Chirp, chirp, chirp._

Brightness tickled at his consciousness. Draco groaned. He desperately tried to hold onto the blissful nothingness of sleep. But the glow of what promised to be a sunny day intruded into his slumber.

_Brrrrrr-eow eow eow eow_ , trumpeted the peacock.

Draco pulled his blanket over his head to block out the obnoxious noises of the new day. Something clacked noisily onto the floor. Grumbling, he rolled over to the edge of his bed and felt for whatever it was that had caused the unwelcome disturbance. He retrieved his Hawthorne wand.

_What had his wand been doing in his bed?_

Draco groaned, again.

_Nevermind._

He pulled the covers over his head, desperate to get just a few more minutes of sleep. He still felt considerably drowsy. And it was Sunday, for Merlin’s sake, so there was no reason on earth why he should be getting up early – even if it _was_ , apparently, an exceptionally sunny day, and the meddlesome birds were dead set to annoy him out of his bloody mind.

_Chirp, chirp, chirp._

_Fucking poultry_. Annoyed, Draco felt for his wand to cast a silencing charm, his fingers gliding across the softness of his covers. An onslaught of images, sounds, scents, came rushing through his drowsy mind that had him gasping at the intensity of the sudden memory.

Flashes of a dark, hazy Potions classroom materialised in his head–a sparkle in the dark–a pearly twinkle between the legs of a brunette witch bent low over a table–his mouth buried between the witch's legs–his cock fucking the witch into the table–the witch that was Hermione Granger.

_SHITE!_

Draco sat up, heart thudding wildly in his chest. His brain spiralled into overdrive.

_Fuck fuck fuck FUCK!_

_FUCK!_

Oh Gods. He had dream-fucked Hermione bloody Granger.

_FUCK!_ _How did that happen!?_

Panting, Draco clasped his head, desperate to suppress the deluge of images, feelings, smells that poured into his consciousness. He was drowning in the softness of her thighs, the saltiness of her core, the silky wetness of her insides wrapped around his throbbing length…

_Oh no, oh no, OH NO!_

He jumped out of his bed, agitatedly pacing in his room, desperately, irrationally, trying to walk off the memories overwhelming his senses. This wasn’t normal! Did Granger curse him? Did she cast a spell on him? Was this some kind of revenge for him being such a wanker to her at school? Yes, that had to be it! She had to have cursed him!

But _how_?

_Oh, oh no._

The sex shop. That’s why she’d been so nice to him at the sex shop!

Draco groaned. _Fuck._

He’d actually believed Granger to have been genuinely nice to him, out of the goodness of her fucking heart. What a fucking naïve idiot he was! Why _on earth_ would she _ever_ be nice to him? After all that had happened in the past, never mind how much time had gone by, never mind how much he had changed!

_You've lost your bloody mind, you bloody stupid wanker_ . No doubt about it, Granger _had_ hexed him!

Draco paced around his room in agitation, the annoying poultry all but forgotten.

_Blaise. It was all Blaise's fault. Come to think of it, Blaise was probably in on it, too!_ Gods! _Blaise, that fucking bastard_ , he thought darkly. _It’d all been a set-up. Yes! Oh, it was_ so _obvious now. He’d really become such a Hufflepuff._

Still, the pressing question remained: _how?_

Draco jumped into action, wand clutched tightly in his hand. He stalked into the dressing room where he had deposited the shopping bag from _Sh!_ the day before. Manically pulling out item after item, he cast spell after spell to detect the curse that had induced the sordid wet dream. But to no avail; no traces of magical interference were to be found in any of the objects.

Instead, his apparently still confused brain conjured images of his nocturnal escapade: sexes adorned by the pearl string moving in synchronicity flashed through his still tired mind; his dick pushing in and out of Granger’s soaking pussy; the witch moaning and sighing at the delightful assault; and the sweet sensation of release overwhelming him, drowning him.

_“Fuck!”_ Draco shuddered at the memory. The spell had to be incredibly powerful to still be affecting him.

Yet, no matter how many counter-curses he tried, his efforts to trace anything sinister remained futile. To all appearances, he had purchased perfectly innocent–if incredibly arousing– but definitely ordinary, non-magical items.

Draco cursed under his breath. It wasn’t even noon, yet he felt as though he’d barely slept.

Slowly, the rational part of his brain awakened, urging him not to overreact. He needed to go about this in an orderly, analytical fashion. Surely, a proper shower and a Full English would restore both his mental and physical capabilities. And then he would make a plan. Yes, he needed a plan

Purposefully, Draco stalked out of his dressing room, into his ensuite bathroom.

 

* * *

 

Water cascaded over his face, and Draco emptied his mind. Occlumency had saved his arse over and over again. Though there had been infinitely more trying situations during the war, Draco found that _now_ , he had a hard time shutting away his tumultuous emotions.  

He turned off the water. Hot steam swirled around him, and tiny droplets hung heavy from his lashes. It all made him feel light headed and dizzy, and it took him a second to steady himself.

He leaned against the cool tiles of his shower and took shallow breaths.

The drops were caressing his body as they dripped down his chest, over his abdomen, onto his half-hard cock. It made him think of scarlet lips exploring his body.

_Oh no_ , Draco thought. But the groan that escaped his lips only served as a reminder of what he was trying very, _very_ hard _not_ to think about.

But he couldn’t seem to help it. As the water ran over his over-sensitised skin, he imagined delicate fingertips tracing veins, muscles, scars. He closed his eyes and grabbed his hardening length. He imagined the wetness running down his legs to be a red hot tongue sucking at his skin.

Draco hardened his grip and stroked his length, up and down, up and down. He saw her kneeling in front of him. Her mouth, which had taunted him so very often with cheeky comebacks, now firmly wrapped around him. Her sharp tongue swirling around the head, feeling, exploring, caressing every inch, every vein, every muscle. Draco let out a low moan and increased his pumping. He could almost feel her, sucking him off, right there.

_Oh yes_ , he grunted, and felt his bullocks tighten; the familiar tingling sensation gathering at the end of his spine, the pent-up energy ready to burst, now, oh so close, _so close_ …

_Oh gods, fuck, Granger…_ with a muffled grunt Draco spilt his seed all over his showered body, shaking with the powerful tremors of his release.

Draco slumped down the tiled wall, ice-cold against the heat of his skin. He tried to get his erratic breathing under control, but he couldn’t seem to get his fuzzed mind in order.

This was unnatural. He’d never had any feelings for the brunette, and now he had gotten two of the most intense orgasms of his life whilst thinking of her. He could only imagine the power of the spell she had him under, if it even defied a mind so adept at Occlumency as his.

He needed to get his shite sorted out. And quickly.

 

* * *

 

An hour later, a groomed, fed and thus considerately less moody, Draco sat in the breakfast parlour of Malfoy Manor browsing the _Prophet_ , just as he would every morning. While his eyes were fixed on Hermias Whitlock’s lengthy article on the political revolution that was the Squib Equality & Education Bill, which was likely to be passed in the Wizengamot later this month, Draco found he was having a very hard time indeed concentrating on the scoop.

Frustrated, he crumpled the paper. His chair scraped loudly over the wooden floors as he abruptly stalked over to the window overlooking the grounds of the family estate.

“Is something the matter, dear? What sordid nonsense did that rag spout this time? Anything to worry about?”

The ever lofty figure of Narcissa Malfoy swept into the room to join her son for a second cup of tea. She reached for the wrinkled newspaper and scowled at the headline.

“Hm? Oh, the Prophet. No, not this time, Mother. It seems I have a bone to pick with Zabini.”

“Oh?”

“Nothing to worry about. He just pulled one over on me, is all. I’m still trying to figure out how he managed to do it.”

“Ah, I see,” Narcissa remarked, although she did not, in fact, see what on earth Blaise Zabini could’ve possibly done to warrant such unusual behaviour as the destruction of the morning paper.

“Speaking of your friends, don’t forget that dear Theo is coming over for supper tonight. And he will be bringing his lady friend.”

Draco turned to scowl at his mother. "Pansy's coming?”

“Oh, you know already? Isn’t it perfectly wonderful that both of them are finally together? I always felt they were made for each other.”

“They always hated each other,” Draco remarked drily.

“Oh, Draco, dear, you really _can_ be blind, sometimes.”

The blond snorted.

“Excuse me?” his mother demanded sternly.

“Apologies, mother. I just fail to see where on earth constant bickering and complaining would ever indicate mutual attraction.”

“Well, sometimes we overtly reject what we secretly want, don’t we.” His mother remarked airily, sipping on her tea. The sentiment uncannily reminded Draco of what the shop girl had said the other day: _Probably everyone has this one kink, or harbours that secret attraction for someone._

“I suppose so,” he supplied, even though he did not, in fact, supposed so. However, Theo and Pansy coming to dinner finally gave him the opportunity to inquire about their strange relationship. But first, he needed to speak to Blaise and find out how he and Granger had hexed him. And then he’d have them cast the counter-curse. Kissing his mother goodbye, he tracked down his pharaoh eagle owl, Cassandra.

Yesterday's embarrassment at the muggle shop felt almost childish compared to what Draco was feeling now. When he'd returned from his shopping spree the day before, aggravated and mortified though he was, he had immediately owled Blaise to demand that they talk. As of yet, his friend had not responded, which annoyed Draco to no end.

Draco decided that he'd had enough. He composed a Howler and instructed Cassandra not to come back without a response.

Watching the majestic bird carry the letter glowing dangerously red over the sun-bathed gardens of Malfoy Manor, he reflected on what had happened since he’d been to _Sh!_ . He _really_ needed to talk to Blaise, sooner rather than later, and find out what in Merlin’s name he and Granger had done to him.

Grimly, he stalked away, towards the library. If Blaise didn’t reply soon he might just be able to find a counter-curse amongst the literary treasures of his family.

####  **_Still Sunday (the day before, Hermione’s flat)_ **

When Hermione awoke bright early to a sunny morning she still felt fuzzy and confused. Fuzzy thanks to the copious amounts of Italian red wine consumed the previous evening, confused because she was still reeling from that really erotic dream that had awoken her in the middle of the night.

It was ridiculous but she could almost still feel his touches burning on her soft skin as she was basking in the delicious combination of tiredness and afterglow. It was not often that she experienced an orgasm so intense that she would wake up from it.

Hermione got up and continued with her usual Sunday routine: showering, fixing the morning tea, reading, until she Floo’ed over to the Burrow for the weekly Sunday lunch.

It was only when she returned to the solitude of her flat hours later, sitting with a contentedly purring Crookshanks in her lap, digging into Cecily Plumtricket’s discourse on early modern Sex Magyck and its roots in antique sorcery, that she became aware of how very much things had changed.

And, to all appearances, not only for her but also for a certain blond wizard she couldn’t quite get out of her head. She was still struggling to bring together the two impressions she had of Draco Malfoy; the childish, vindictive, cruel boy from school, and the elegant, curious polite young man at _Sh!_. Blaise’s tiny jabs the previous night only contributed to her confusion.

After a while, she closed her book and retrieved her golden paper bag with the goods from _Sh!._ She carefully caressed the laces and silks and satins, and suddenly had the urge to feel the erotic cloth on her skin.

Peeling away layers and layers of her daytime attire, she stood and looked at her nakedness in the floor length bathroom mirror. She liked the swell of her even breasts, firm and perky and round, which only ever required a bra as a decoration, never as support. She squinted at the sight of her slightly round belly, more soft than flat. Still, she liked how the curves of her female body swelled and dipped from her hips over her thighs into the length of her shapely legs.

Hermione was not like many other women who eternally strove to become skinnier; she genuinely liked the way she looked. On top of that, she thought that there was barely anything sexier than a curvy woman in the throes of passion, body undulating, curves that begged to be touched and caressed.

She pulled the masquerade dress over her head and admired her seductively-decorated reflection. Hermione thought of Draco, of how he had blushed as he had seen her with the garment coming out of the dressing room, his eyes wide, ever so often flickering back to her shopping basket and _the dress_.

Nevermind Blaise’s teasing, it _had_ been apparent, to her at least, that Draco had been floored that she, whom he’d probably imagined to be sleeping with a book between her legs, would wear these kinds of garments.

Hermione quietly laughed to herself. Now he’d have to imagine her wearing _this_.

She spun and examined her rear view. Oh, how she would have loved to show him just _how_ well it suited her.

Pulling out garment after garment, Hermione felt flushed and excited. She twisted and turned in teddies and crotchless panties and stockings and pumps in front of the mirror.

This was why she loved dressing up in the bedroom (amongst other places). It made her feel powerful. She almost felt like the outfit made her exude a different kind of magic; a raw, primal kind of magic, that had most men and women hypnotised.

Hermione had always suspected that this effect was more than mere lust and imagination. What Muggles commonly described as the ‘chemistry’ between two people, she had an inkling that there was some sort of erotic power that contributed to the magic between two people – given that they were compatible, of course.

It was a lacking compatibility that had convinced her that her teenage romance with Ron was just that: a teenage romance. He’d been a kind lover, patient and gentle, and Hermione was forever thankful to have had a respectful and loving first time. But in the end, he was, at the very core, a prude, and a rather judgemental one at that.

He’d never been quite comfortable with Hermione transforming into a vixen in the bedroom, keen to explore every aspect of sensuality.

Even though he’d liked her lingerie well enough, she’d had the distinct impression that he was more intimidated than aroused whenever she made herself up to be particularly sexy.

And whenever she had brought up the slightest suggestion of kink, his self-conscious and timid reactions (“don’t you like what we’re doing?”) confirmed that both of them were just not compatible–neither intellectually nor sexually.

Her mind flitted back to Draco and his out of character reaction back at the shop. He really _was_ a rather good-looking specimen of a man when he wasn’t spouting ignorant abuses and his face wasn’t contorted by that ugly sneer of his and.

She supposed that Blaise being a good friend of his was, at the very least, evidence of his good character. Somewhere. It also suggested that he wasn’t always the pig-headed prat she had known ten or so years ago.

Once again, she spun in front of the mirror and admired her sensual appearance: a crotchless panty under a black lace garter skirt, black stockings and nipple tassels complemented her wild, dark hair. Hermione applied some ruby-red lipstick and a touch of mascara.

Now she felt particularly wicked.

If she was perfectly honest, she’d genuinely enjoyed Malfoy’s company at the shop. They had conversed easily and amicably, and it had really impressed her that he’d shown such sincere curiosity in exploring female sexuality.

One thing about Ron, which was far from normal: Ron had never truly enjoyed pleasuring her orally. Draco, on the other hand ( _Draco?_ Where in Merlin’s pants had _that_ come from?), seemed to be the kind of wizard who’d get immense satisfaction from the fact that he could make a witch lose her mind. It _was_ a heady sort of thing. Again, this was something that Hermione could relate to.

_It all came down to compatibility_.

Hermione wondered if Draco had always been this way; if this side of him had just laid hidden beneath layers of the arrogant, pureblood persona he showed in public.

She couldn’t help but wonder whether –if she’d ever gotten to know him like _this_ –things could have been different. She wondered how things could’ve been if he had been at Hogwarts during 8th year, after the war, after all the shite and the angst and the sadness had passed, after prejudice and bloodstatus had stopped mattering. She thought of how things could’ve been if they had met late at night, studying for their N.E.W.T.s, exhausted but still competitive and stubborn till the end, not wanting to be the first to go to bed.

She imagined how it would’ve been if they had snuck secret glances at each other, at first to see who was the first to tire, then, after some time, to covertly observe the other. She thought of how she would notice the blonde-white fringe hanging low into his eyes, like it had the other day. How he furrowed his brows and scrunched his nose when he was deep in thought. She imagined his long legs in pressed slacks stretching out under the table, accidentally gracing her thighs. She saw his broad shoulders rolling to keep out the tension from hours sitting and reading.

Hermione remembered how sexy he had looked with the nose deep in his books, even _then_ , and how her stomach would lurch when he suddenly would look up to meet her stare with a heated, burning expression.

It was the _intensity_ in his stares that now, knowing about _the other_ Malfoy, made her knees weak and her knickers damp.

She thought about her old school uniform, her skirt and her stockings, and how she had started to wear lingerie in 8th year because she’d stopped being a girl in the war, and she finally wanted to feel like a woman: sexy and desired and powerful.

She considered her reflection: a brunette femme-fatale in naughty laces and black silks smirked seductively at her. When she moved she could see the soft flesh of her vagina framed by the crotchless knickers, slightly hidden underneath the black lace of the garter skirt.

Nothing about her image said ‘studious’ or ‘hard-working’ or (Merlin forbid) ‘swotty’.

Hermione pondered just how much she had changed since her Hogwarts days. In a spur of the moment she _Accio_ ’ed her old school uniform, and (without bothering to change out of her lingerie) she pulled on skirt, stockings, shirt and tie.

She was a quite surprised that the outfit didn’t require much adjustment with the fitting spell, considering how much she had grown into a woman.

Still, the ensemble looked _dull_ : the skirt was too long and frumpy, the grey woollen stockings were whatever the exact opposite of sexy was, the cut of the shirt was just so _very_ conservative, and the tie reminded her of how she’d _always_ been perceived as the swotty, self-righteous Gryffindor.

Hermione reached for her wand and transfigured her attire into a distinctly more _adult_ version of her school uniform. She vanished the socks, the skirt rode up her legs until it just grazed her thighs and showed the silken stockings and garter belt wrapping around her legs. She opened the top few buttons of her shirt until the fabric nicely framed her breasts while the loosened tie hung seductively between them.

Turning and bending in front of the mirror, she carefully studied her flushed,aroused expression. No, she did _not_ look swotty in this. Then again, neither did she look like she would be doing any studying in this outfit.

She sashayed into her study. Sitting at her old and wooden desk, surrounded by walls covered with shelves upon shelves of books, always made her feel like being back in the Hogwarts library.

Hermione closed her eyes. She imagined sitting at her favourite table at the very back of the Hogwarts library. So often had she been there, had committed that place to perfect memory, that she could almost smell the scent of century-old books and parchments and ink.

She remembered her excitement of having found an equally engaging study partner in Viktor Krum back in 4th Year. But instead of a black-haired boy, she imagined a blond young man sitting next to her, showing books, comparing paragraphs in essays, animatedly discussing the use of a potion’s ingredient.

Hermione started caressing herself.

She saw him gesturing with his slender, elegant hands as he explained something. She visualised his mouth curl into a triumphant smile as he made his point. She got lost in the silver, grey, and light blue of his eyes shining with that fiery passion as he caught her gaze.

Her heart stuttered, and she felt the heat rise in her cheeks. She imagined how, accidentally, their hands would touch; how Draco would then reach for her cheek. He would gently, cautiously touch her skin; trace his thumb across her lips.

Her hands wandered over her breasts.

As she imagined how she would capture his fingers between her lips, her breath hitched. She would lick and suck on his digits and make him gasp as he’d imagine her doing this, exactly _this_ , to an entirely different part of his body.

Hermione felt the heat rising as she continued to touch herself. She caressed her curves, her stomach, her breasts through her uniform. All the while she imagined _his_ hands roaming all over her, more urgently now, teasing her breasts, through the fabric at first, then he’d impatiently pull the shirt aside and stroke her uncovered tits and nipples until was squirming with anticipation.

Panting and moaning, Hermione thought of Draco as her hands wandered south, towards her uncovered centre, framed by her knickers. She spread her legs, her stockinged thighs sticky and warm.

She pictured him breathing shallowly now, feeling for the tell-tale wetness, as she leaned back in her chair, anxious to remain quiet as not to betray what these two model students were _actually_ doing at the far end of the library.

_I want to devour you, Granger_ , he would whisper seductively into her ear. _Let me taste you. Let me_ discover _your body._

Hermione closed her eyes and imaged how Draco would lay her onto their table, parchments and quills tossed aside, her curls spilling all over the mess.

He would bend over her and worship her curves properly now, nipping at her flesh, his hands roaming and teasing her breast, her nipples. He would then spread her legs and lick his way downwards.

As she teased and stroked her folds, her sex, her depths, she imagined Draco bending over her kissing his way down to her mons venus, suckling her outer folds.

_You look beautiful, Granger… like an orchid, did you know?,_  he would rasp. And then he would drag his tongue across her outer labia, stroking, stroking, _stroking_ , and then he’d suck at her protruding smaller lips, again teasing and testing until he would cover her sex with his mouth and bury his tongue deep inside her.

Hermione panted heavily and shoved one finger, two fingers inside her slippery pussy. But she was almost too wet. The juices of her arousal denied her the much-needed friction. She summoned her favourite toy and activated the vibrating spell. While she worked the vibrator into her cunt, frantically, almost violently, she imagined how Malfoy would crouch between her legs while she lay splayed on top of her library table. How his silvery white hair would look buried between her thighs. How he would whisper, while he was worshipping her with his slender fingers, how very sexy she was, how _unbelievably_ erotic, and how he would like to fuck her for real now, right now, into the Hogwarts library table, scattered books and spilt ink be damned.

With a whimper Hermione convulsed around her toy, her body quivering and stuttering as the waves of her orgasm washed over her.

Exhausted, she stretched out her limbs, basking in the afterglow of her fantasy.

As soon as her faculties had returned, Hermione found herself pondering that her favourite fantasy –shagging in the Hogwarts library– had undergone a significant change. While she usually would get off imagining sex against a shelf with whomever she vaguely fancied at the moment, Draco Malfoy’s appearance spoke volumes about her current obsession.

Great.

Not only would she have to add being eaten out by the blasé and aloof Slytherin to the list of her secret desires, she would also have to re-examine what this fascination with the blond wizard was exactly.

A purring Crookshanks slid into her study and pounced onto her lap, demanding affection from his mistress. Absentmindedly, Hermione stroked the cat, while she reflected on her feelings for the wizard. Her automatic reaction ( _nothing, of course!_ ) was a blatantly untrue, as uncomfortable as the realisation was, given their complicated history.

However, he appeared to be quite different _now_ from how he’d used to be _then_.

Hermione was a practical witch, so she had no problems accepting the fact that there _was_ physical attraction, and that did not have to take emotional or intellectual compatibility into consideration. So there was no reason to feel guilty about lusting after the wizard.

Hermione decided that _this_ –whatever it was she (her body? her subconscious?) felt for Malfoy (she decided to categorise it as ‘ _fascination_ ’) – wasn’t anything even worth considering as more than exactly that, a fascination. Right now, she didn’t actually _know_ Draco Malfoy. And whether or not there was a possible future with the wizard was a moot question since it was very much a thing of both her imagination and the _future_ , and therefore nothing she should be worrying about at all.

She was a rational being, after all, not a Seer.

Honestly.

####  **_Monday (today, Ministry of Magic)_ **

Hermione fiddled with the tattered copy of Cecily Plumtricket’s _Princum Prancum Magicum_. She glanced at her watch. There was still some time until her lunch date, Blaise, would arrive.

She stifled a yawn. It wasn’t that she was tired. No, not exactly. More exhausted, really.

She had spent the better part of Sunday strutting through her flat in her new garments, and then had brought herself to climax (a couple of times, actually). Every time she had thought of the handsome blond Slytherin who had quite suddenly materialised in her life.

Yes, she had insisted – in front of Blaise on Saturday– that her and Draco’s meeting at _Sh!_ had been innocent enough. Which it certainly had.

However, she had also come to terms with the conclusion that her strange fascination with her former classmate possibly ran deeper than she had anticipated.

Hermione hummed to herself and absentmindedly flipped through the images of copulating Baroque figures in the ancient book.

Of course, Hermione reasoned this was most likely a perfectly natural response to the circumstances. After all, who would _not_ imagine a handsome, perfectly available male specimen, someone who was educating himself on the mysteries of the female orgasm, in the throes of passion?

No, _that_ was perfectly normal, surely. As was the fact that she had thought of the same blond wizard when she’d brought herself to climax. Repeatedly.

What _had_ Hermione Granger worrying was the frequency in which the smirking Slytherin had invaded her dreams. Not only on Saturday night, but again, last night. Both were such vivid dreams, too, they had her blushing even now.  

While the first dream may have been the result of too many glasses of wine consumed, there was no adequate explanation for the dream last night.

Abruptly, Hermione got up and opened one of her windows.

She felt a slight tingling sensation ghosting down her spine just thinking of both her dreams. She was no stranger to orgasming in her sleep; although, to be fair, it had never happened two nights in a row. Also, the feelings involved had never been quite that intense.

Even though Hermione could perfectly rationalise why her subconscious had chosen the dungeons, the Potions classroom in particular, as the backdrop for their first nocturnal _tête-à-tête_ , she couldn’t fathom why her subconscious had taken her and Malfoy to the Room of Hidden Things for their second _rendezvous_ , where they’d shagged standing between the stacks of broken furniture and stashed away instruments.

Why, she wondered, hadn’t they (or her subconscious, for that matter) simply conjured a more erotic setting?

The sun was already standing high. Hermione checked her watch. Still a couple more minutes until Blaise would be here. She knew his department had a pressing meeting this morning, and it was possible that he’d be late. _They’d probably Floo to the Leaky to have a quick lunch sandwich_ , she mused.

An idea flashed through her mind.

Hermione _Accio_ ’ed _Prinkum Prankum Magicum_ , flipped to the front and perused the table of contents.

 

 i. _The Ancient and Most Noble Sorcerey of Sappho, also known as Princum Prancum Magicum._  
_(In which the Origin, Design, and Principles of the Ancient and Noble Art of Princum Prancum Magicum are elaborated –1–, and the Modi, Workings, and Limitations of Arcadian, Lesbian, and Cytherean Sorcery are presented –58–_

_ii. Worshipping the Goddesses._  
_(In which we shall discover the Celebration of the Solstices–110–, Hallow’s Eve –154–, and Samhain –201–, and explore the Heightening of Carnal Powers –232–)_

_iii. Lusting and Magycking in Solitude._ _  
_ _(In which we shall discover how to achieve the Sublime Dream –316–, the Powers and Purposes of the Erotic Unconscious –369–, as well as–_

 

There it was. Hermione flitted to Chapter Three ‘ _Lusting in Solitude’_ , and opened page 316. Perusing the pages, one paragraph, in particular, caught her eye:

_In_ Princum Prancum Magicum, _as we call the Art of Carnal Magyck,_ _the Sublime Dream, also known as the_ Kiss of Amor and Psyche _, is amongst the most effective means to awaken dormant magyckal powers. As a method, the Sublime Dream is almost as difficult as it is powerful; and one might, if the instructions not be followed in their entirety and according to our most knowledgeable advice, be confronted with defeat or devastation. Since the early days of Arcadian, Cytherean and Lesbian magic, the Sublime Dream has been known to be utilised as a means to strengthen the emotional and carnal bonds between lovers; there have also been cases of Sublime Dreams across the boundaries between creatures. It does not follow, however, that the Sublime Dream has to be performed as a party._

_Inherent to the achievement of the Sublime Dream is the reconnection with the innermost desires and wishes. Should more than one person wish to perform a Sublime Dream, or if a Sublime Dream is meant to enhance the bond between two or more persons, a strong emotional and carnal bond between all magyckal persons involved is of the essence. The incantation is based on…_

Hermione skimmed the next couple of passages until she came to the part elaborating the markers of a Sublime Dream:

_The Sublime Dream, unlike than the common nocturnal phantasy, is distinguished by its intensity, both in regards to its vividness, as in respect to the experiences of the senses. During a Sublime Dream a magyckal being may witness olfactory, visual, sometimes even tactile sensations that may be equally as intense (if not more intensely felt) as experiences during the daytime. Another common marker is that a Sublime Dream will very rarely be forgotten. Instead, the experience generally proves to be so powerful that it might infiltrate the common dream, alas in a less vivid manner–_

This made her pause. When she had awoken from her dream on Saturday, she could have sworn that she had still felt Malfoy’s touches on her skin, and that she’d still smelled his perfume. In fact, it had lingered in her room well until she had gotten up.

Could she possibly have experienced a Sublime Dream?

 

_Although the achievement of a Sublime Dream, and therefore the realisation of the full potential of subconsciously dormant carnal powers, is in equal parts reliant on the i) incantation, ii) the purposeful opening of the mind, iii) and the conjuring of a strong mental image of the carnal objective, there have been cases known to us, however seldom, where similar or almost identical states to the Sublime Dream have unwittingly been achieved._

_We have seen this to be true in cases of persons who have been lovers for a long time; sometimes husbands and wives; but we have also recorded cases between young lovers. There have even been instances of cross-creatural achievements of a Sublime Dream, as well as, to our knowledge, a most singular occurrence of an accidental Sublime Dream shared between a triple party._

_As we have concluded, all these cases are distinguished by a strong emotional and carnal connection shared between all magical beings involved, which are usually grounded on long-lasting companionships. The most important circumstance, however, which is inherent to all these accidental cases, is that the parties either still are, or have been, separated over a long period of time. These kinds of separations don’t always have to translate in great geographical distances; as a famous case in Verona has shown, also restrictions of class and society may act as hurdles the magical subconscious strives to overcome. It is for that reason that the Sublime Dream is also known as The Kiss of Eros and Psyche, the ancient lovers who have been separated by the limits of mortality, as the potential carnal power and the strong emotional bond work to overcome any obstacles in order to realise a potentially powerful connection of carnal magyck–_

“Cheers, Granger! You’re not still working, are you?”

Hermione almost fell from her chair. She had been so absorbed in the study of the tome, that she had completely missed Blaise swaggering into her office.

“No, it’s nothing with work.”

In long strides, Blaise crossed the room and stood next to her to kiss her hello.

“The sublime dream? What by Merlin’s tits is that?”

Hermione tried to close the tome quickly, but Blaise had already taken the book and deciphered the keywords.

“’The Sublime Dream, unlike than the common nocturnal phantasy, is distinguished by its intensity, both in regards to its vividness, as in respect to the experiences of the senses.’ Haven’t had any intense wet dreams recently, have you?”

Hermione snatched the book out of his hands and shut it into her desk.

“Of course not.” But she couldn’t hide the blush creeping up her neck.

“About anyone we know? Malfoy, maybe?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Sure, Granger.” Blaise smirked devilishly at her.  “Whatever makes you sleep at night.”

“Do you want to go to lunch or not?” Hermione snapped and retrieved her jacket. “I don’t have all day, you know.”

A grinning Blaise in tow, Hermione stalked out of her office.

Just as they crossed the Atrium walking towards the furnaces, an angry voice echoed through the hall.

“Hey! _HEY!_ Wait just a second, you wanker.”

The pair swirled around to see a shock of white-blond hair over billowing emerald green robes menacingly striding towards them through a group of gaping bystanders.

“ _ZABINI_ ! Don’t you _DARE_ run away from me again!”

By all appearances, the furious wizard storming towards them had a bone to pick. And whenever Draco Malfoy was furious, _no one_ should stand in his way.

“Here we go”, Blaise sighed, “ _hell hath seen no fury like a Malfoy scorned.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Harry's and Jo's Birthday!! Let's celebrate with... another cliffy! Yeah, sorry about that (not really lol). I am sorry, however, that the next update won't be quite as quick as this one (the chapter was already written and beta'ed). I'm working on it though, and it *does* help exeedingly if you let me know what you think, or like about this, or where you think this is going. Much love, until next time! Lynx xx


	4. The Vanishing of the Cabinet

**_Monday morning, Malfoy Manor_ **

The bright full moon shone through the tall windows and illuminated the slightly moving contours of a sleeping man, pale hair and features almost glowing in the nocturnal light.

Although deep in slumber, he was tossing and turning, clearly perturbed by an adventurous dream. All of a sudden, a chuckle escaped his lips, and his eyes snapped open, silvery orbs sparkling in the dark. In a flurry of flailing movements, he sat up, wildly glancing around.

The eerie surroundings made Draco Malfoy feel momentarily disoriented. And then there was the multitude of feelings crushing into his consciousness that had him almost blindsided. There was this inexplicable soreness in his limbs and muscles, and yet an uninhibited joy coursing through his veins that made him want to laugh out loud.

Thoroughly exhausted though he was, he decided not to think about it any longer. He drifted off to sleep soon after, a smile on his lips and the smell of lavender and jasmine and orange blossoms in his nose.

 

* * *

 

Billowing clouds were scattered all over the light-blue summer sky. Draco’s silhouette was dark against the morning sun, as he watched them chasing each other.

_Great. That means it’s probably going to rain later._

He rolled his shoulders.

As Cassandra, the large handsome owl, flapped away, he closed the window to the Breakfast Parlour. He moved back to the table and reached for the cup of tea sat in front of him. The steam was twirling into the air, dancing around, to and fro, and then twisting into nothing.

Draco felt tired. Tired and _sore_.

He fumbled with the dish. The porcelain clanked against its saucer, and the spoon clattered noisily onto the table.

An onslaught of images came rushing to forefront of his mind.

_Draco delighted in the softness of her skin, as his hands travelled under her shirt and caressed her right hip, her breast, and her nipple, while his left hand held onto her arse. He slammed his cock back into her cunt._

_The witch keened in pleasure, her hands gripped the black piece of furniture in front of them so tightly that the white of her knuckles were showing._

_BANG! CLANG! BANG!_

_'Oh yes, Draco, YES!' she cried, 'Give it to me! Give it to me harder! PLEEEAAASE! HAARDERR'_

_The witch bucked and pushed out her arse, arching her back. Draco grabbed her hind and tilted his hips. He fucked her in deep, languid strokes while the cabinet echoed his movements with a satisfying, rattling staccato._

He grabbed his cup and forced down a large gulp of tea, willing the flashing images to disappear like his drink.

The scalding liquid burnt his tongue.

_BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!_

_'YESSSS!' he hissed through clenched teeth, 'Just like that… mmhh... show me that pert little bum!'_

_Draco's right stroked her buttocks, her cleft, her belly, with a tenderness that contrasted with the sharp punishing snaps of his hips._

Draco swallowed.

_CLANG! BANG! BANG!_

_His hands travelled along her sides and firmly gripped both her hips. He pulled her upper body tightly against his chest, nuzzling the side of her neck, breathing in the familiar scent of lavender and jasmine and a hint of something else._

_'Hold–on–tight– love,' he grunted into her ear between thrusts, as his legs widened her stance. Hermione, still holding onto the edges of the furniture in front of her, let out a whimper and then Draco fucked her,_ really _fucked her, against the old Vanishing Cabinet._

Draco choked down another gulp of his tea.

This time, they'd gone at it in the Room of Hidden Things, of all places. He _hated_ that room. Although, thinking about it _now_ , it didn't seem _all_ that terrible anymore.

_Their shared moans and sighs echoed from high ceilings, only drowned out by the clanking of the wood they were rutting against. The faster and faster they moved, the louder the Cabinet shook until the witch quivered and stiffened and keened in delight, and the wizard shuddered and groaned in ecstasy as he poured and poured and poured his seed into her._

_Completely spent, they both fell onto the old Vanishing Cabinet, which – creaking and quaking and with a foreboding shiver – collapsed into a heap of wooden pieces._

_The exhausted couple found themselves entangled with the remnants of what used to be the Vanishing Cabinet, and, drunk of their post orgasmic high, they couldn't help but laugh and laugh and –_

Draco gulped down another sip of tea.

As much as he willed himself to focus on the present, he couldn't shake the sense of deep satisfaction overwhelming that had settled in his still exhausted limbs after the dream. He couldn’t forget how it'd felt when he had fucked her, when he came in her; the witch, moaning and sighing, smelling of the salt of arousal and jasmine and lavender; the witch who felt soft and warm, who made _him_ feel soft and warm. And he still felt the overpowering sense of elation as the blasted cabinet had – finally – crashed under them.

Draco crossed his legs and stared unseeing out of the window. The gleeful exhaustion of hours earlier was long gone.

He felt for the parchment he had yesterday stuffed none too gently into his trouser pockets.

_Drakey!_

_I can't tell you how positively delighted I am at the thought of hexing you – especially since your ridiculous little Howler's bloody well screamed me out of my bed._

_It's fucking SUNDAY!_

_Fuck you, Malfoy - FUCK YOU!_

_So, unfortunately, NO, I did NOT 'curse' you, and neither did Granger – although I wouldn't put it completely beside her. Merlin knows you've earned the right to be hexed by her several times over. And if you were quite bovine enough to send her one of these lovely little Howlers, too I can promise you, there WILL be cursing._

_However (and not that you'd believe me), when I entertained her last night (which, incidentally, is the reason I was too preoccupied to answer your previous owl–-yes, Malfoy, SOME of us do have lady friends to spend out Saturday evenings with!), she did not seem as if she was harbouring any ill will towards you; quite the opposite, actually. Then again, one never really knows with women, does one?_

_That said, we all know what a saint Granger is. Well, actually, she's probably a bit too dirty, if I'm being perfectly honest. (A dirty saint, haha.) The point is, Granger's always the champion for a lost cause, and since that is precisely what you are, THAT was why I'd asked her to accompany you to the 'fucking muggle shop'. That, and she practically lives there, too. Also, I knew she'd be more than happy to teach you everything you needed to know about female pleasure._

_Well then, you obnoxious wanker, hope you’re satisfied._

_–B._

_P.S. Procured the bottiglia we wanted for Wednesday. Cost me almost a Nimbus 3000. Hope you're not too cursed to cancel._

He frowned at the piece of parchment. Count on Blaise to make a joke of his predicament.

He read the letter again and the the last bit made his temper rise.

_Fucking Zabini._

It didn't say anything at all.

It was pure mockery.

Granger might or might not have hexed him. Fucking tosser being purposefully vague. Draco snorted. Of course he was.

 _Pshaw_.

The fact that Blaise didn’t _appear_ to know anything about the dreams, didn’t say anything at all, did it?

He gritted his teeth.

What a bloody waste of time.

Naturally, Draco had immediately composed a response demanding to see Blaise as soon as possible. He had waited, in vain, for a response. So just this morning he'd sent another letter to Blaise's secretary requesting ‘an appointment at Mr Zabini's earliest convenience to discuss a matter of utmost importance.’ He was still waiting for answer to that one as well.

Draco tapped his fingers against his wand and absent-mindedly summoned today's Prophet from the pile of letters on the sideboard, almost knocking over the exuberant bouquet of poppies, daffodils and moon flowers from his mother's garden.

Hermias Whitlock had written yet another piece about the Squib Legislation. Granger's legislation, as Draco knew.

He sighed.

Hermione Granger. It was almost uncanny how he couldn’t seem to elude the witch these days.

Skimming the letter once again, he scowled at Blaise having ‘entertained’ Granger and been too 'preoccupied' to answer, as it were.

The darkening clouds outside were swirling in dramatic patterns.

Never before had he contemplated Blaise having a thing for Granger. He usually fawned over the Weasley girl. But that was done more in jest, wasn’t it? Then again, and Draco scrunched his nose in irritation, for a couple of months now his friend _had_ been making a point of disregarding blood-status.

Visions of Granger sighing against his chest clashed with the unbidden image of Granger and Blaise entangled in silken sheets.

Draco’s fingers dug painfully into the cool porcelain of the teacup.

“...when I entertained her last night…”

If Granger and Blaise were a thing, wouldn’t have Blaise been at her place? The letter stated, well, not actually stated, but it _implied_ that he had been at home. Then again, maybe they’d been at _Casa Nova_ together.

Draco gulped down more hot tea.

'Good morning, dear! How wonderful to see you up so early.'

Draco scrunched his nose and put the letter away.

'Morning, mother. I was just reading the papers. And this came for you.' He handed his mother, ever the sight of elegance, a linen envelope.

'Oh, how lovely.' His mother bent down to kiss her son on the cheek. She frowned and eyed Draco curiously but then took the envelope without another word, and sat down across from him.  

'A thank you note from dear Pansy. Ahh… It was so lovely having them last night, wasn't it?' she gave her son a meaningful glance over her porcelain tea cup.

Her son was overtly glowering into the Daily Prophet ( _ ** ** **'Prophet Exclusive! Squibs Speak out! The Struggle, Strive, and Life as a Non-Magical Pure-Blood'******_ flashed in bright letters across the front page). He mumbled one thing or other in brief acknowledgement.

'Wasn't it just wonderful seeing her and dear Theo together? And so happy, too!'

'Very.' He turned a page of the Prophet.

'After seeing them together, you have to agree, darling, they are such a lovely couple. Very well matched, don't you agree?' His mother soldiered on.

'Absolutely, mother.'

Draco kept his eyes fixed on the paper in his hands as not to give his mother any sort of opening to what she _actually_ wanted to talk about.

Fucking Theo!

Not only was he _effectively_ the reason why he’d lost the blasted wager, now he was _directly_ responsible for his mother’s continuous badgering him about his relationship status.

'You know, darling, there is something very poetic about these two… They’ve known each other their whole lives, but only now did they truly find each other.' Narcissa sighed dramatically, and sipped her tea.

'Indeed.'

Draco turned another page and continued his perusal. What it was exactly that he was reading, Draco had no idea anymore. Letters and moving images were flashing in front of his eyes, while he was concentrated on drowning out what his mother was going on and on about. He did _not_ need to hear, for the umpteenth time, that _surely_ would he find someone if he just bothered to look; and oh, why wasn't he looking; and wouldn't he like her to set something up; just yesterday Madam Fawley, you remember her, don't you, darling, had mentioned a niece who'd just graduated from Beauxbaton…

No. He did not need this conversation. Not now, not ever.

But especially not now.

On top of it, his recollection of their tête-à-tête was staggeringly different. After dinner, while his mother and Pansy had been chattering away about their usual nonconsequential nonsense, Draco had finally gotten around to asking Theo how he and Pansy had ended up together in the first place. Theo then told him that it'd happened at Zabini's. It was over the course of the evening that he'd realised he found Pansy attractive, but he had so gotten used to always antagonising her. And after a couple of glasses of wine everything had started falling into place.

 _'It was the strangest thing, really. It was as if suddenly I could see her clearly; and myself, too. And I started asking myself why the bleeding hell I was fucking around when I had this witch, you know,' and Theo had sipped his drink. 'I just felt that it didn't make sense to rile her up all the time when I could… err…_ rile her up _, you know.'_

This basically confirmed Draco’s worst suspicions: Blaise was somehow responsible. But when he'd asked Theo about foul play, and whether anything at all had been out of the ordinary, possibly involving Zabini, Theo had just laughed away his worries and smacked Draco on his back, thanking him for being such a good mate, but no, there was no reason to be worried, and anyway what a ridiculous notion that was since Blaise couldn't possibly be continuously drugging him with Amortentia.

Only marginally placated by the response, Draco then had asked Theo whether he had ever experienced any _weird dreams_ involving Pansy. He was secretly hoping that at least there his friend might supply similar experiences. But Theo had just eyed Draco strangely and laughed as to why he would _dream_ about Pansy when he could just wake her up and _actually_ fuck her whenever he wanted to.

Not particularly keen on the details of Theo and Pansy’s bedroom habits, Draco had immediately dropped the matter.

Now, flicking through the pages of the Monday issue and the plebeian nonsense page 9 had to offer ( _ ** ** **Meet Oliver Wood, Puddlemore United’s ‘Fit’ NEW Trainer******_ ), Draco pulled out Blaise's reply once again.  

 _'..._ _she did not seem as if she was harbouring any ill will towards you; quite the opposite, actually._ Then again, one never really knows with women, does one? _'_

What did Blaise mean by ' _the opposite'_? Surely, Granger wouldn’t be attracted to him, would she?

The thought had Draco almost laugh out loud.

A vicious voice from the back of his head supplied that it hardly mattered, if Blaise and Granger were an item.

_Clack. Clack. Clack._

'Oh, a ministry owl,' his mother intercepted his thoughts. 'Did you correspond with the Regulations Department again?'

With a flick of her wand, the window opened and a large barn owl swooped into the room and towards Draco.

'Something like that,' he muttered and made to untie the parchment from its outstretched leg. Mirroring ministry efficiency, the owl immediately spread its wings and flew out the window.

He unfolded the parchment.

_Dear Mr Malfoy,_

_Thank you for your request. As Mr Zabini is set to leave for Italy, the next possible appointment would be on Wednesday,_ _17th May_ _, from 2-4 p.m. Please confirm ifI you would like me to set up an appointment._

_Sincerely,_

_Augusta Osbert-Smith, Secretary to Mr Blaise Girolamo Zabini, Chevalier de Seingalt_  
_Undersecretary of International Affairs, Europe_ _  
Department of Intermagical International Relations D.I.I.R. (fmr Department of International Magical Cooperation) of the Ministry of Magic M.o.M._

Draco snorted.

Of course Zabini would instruct his secretary not to give him appointment. But he would not walk around with a curse until Wednesday, thank you very much. Especially not when Blaise was having a laugh at him for lusting after Granger.

The whole thing got Draco worked up again, and he was just about to send a not particularly polite response, when he realised, that a response should much better be delivered in person.

Zabini shan't evade him.

A cup clanked loudly against its saucer and Draco's mind instantly conjured the image of two bodies smacking against the side of a black cabinet. He squeezed his eyes shut to will away the deluge of images of bouncing wild curls, tongue and lips grazing her ear, whispering naughty words, while she bucked against him and –

'–so what do you say, Draco? '

'Sorry, mother. What's that?' To mask his confusion, he took a sip from his tea.

Narcissa Malfoy eyed her stoney-faced son through piercing eyes. 'I was talking about Philomena Fawley. How about a luncheon next week?' she intoned in faux-patience.

Draco had no idea _who_ by Merlin's bollocks his mother was talking about. What he _did_ know was that a pure-blooded witch named after a famous virgin was _certainly not_ his preferred company.

'Sounds marvellous, mother. Unfortunately, I'm quite tied up at the moment. There are a few of ancient scrolls I need to procure. And then, there are a couple of new business ventures I _have_ to discuss with Zabini as soon as possible... which, sadly, will make a formal luncheon during the next couple of weeks quite impossible.'

Draco got up and strode over to mother to give her kiss on the cheek. She continued to examine him through hawk eyes.

'What a pity, darling. I do understand, though. You're terribly busy. You young men usually are.' She sighed theatrically and watched as her son walked stiffly out of the breakfast parlour. She grabbed the abandoned Prophet and, with a frown, started to read Rita Skeeter's egregious commentary on why the new Squib Legislation was, really, a malediction of the Muggle-borns.

 

* * *

 

Draco slammed the door and aggressively stalked down the corridors of the Department of International Intermagical Relations _._ Alarmed ministry officials jumped out of his way at every corner.

He had missed Zabini, yet again.

All that tiny Mrs Osbert-Smith would tell him was that 'Mr Zabini had a meeting and probably went to lunch early'. However, something in Draco's eyes and the whitening knuckles as he gripped her desk whilst towering over her had miraculously rendered her more forthcoming. 'O-o-on M-Mondays M-Mr Zabini a-and Miss Granger go out to lunch–the Leaky Cau-Cauldron, Sir', she had finally offered with wide eyes.

 _Fucking great_ , Draco thought as he marched through the corridors, his heels echoing menacingly from the stone floors.

Not enough that Zabini refused to help him, let alone _meet_ him, now he had to track him down like some kind of house-elf.

He stepped into the lift, and now that he could not walk it out and forced to stand still, his mind circled around the fact that Blaise would keep him waiting but made time for Granger.

Blaise who would spend his Saturday nights with Granger.

Blaise who was friends with Granger.

Blaise who went to Sh! with Granger.

Blaise who was probably _in love_ with Granger.

The train of thought made something in his stomach painfully twist and turn. He gripped the wall for support.

When the stopping and jerking lift finally arrived at the Ministry Atrium, Draco had worked himself up into a frenzy. The gates banged shut and uncannily conjured yet another memory of two bodies smashing against the Vanishing Cabinet in the throes of pleasure.

Not minding the other passengers, Draco pushed out and strode purposefully towards the fireplaces.  

_There!_

He spotted an all-too-familiar mop of wild chestnut curls, and sure enough, there was the tall and broad figure of Blaise Zabini.

'Hey! _HEY!_ Wait just a second, you wanker.'

The pair turned around, and Draco rushed towards them, not minding any of the witches and wizards standing in his way.

' _ZABINI_ ! Don’t you _DARE_ run away from me again!'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so bloody sorry for the long wait. I'm less than happy with what I came up with, but I was getting mad at myself for not continuing in a somewhat timely manner. Massive fanks to my beta MotherofBulls who made sure this is less of a mess. So, I hope you don't hate me. And in keeping with the Birthday updates, this is one too: I'm turning 30 today! (Cue pity party in the comment section.) Love, Lynx  
> P.S. This chapter is dedicated to whoever nominated this story in the Beyond the Book Fanfiction Summer Awards. OMG. Thank. You. Please let me know who you are.


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